


Songs of Love

by Loretto



Series: Songs of Love [1]
Category: Father Ted
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Priests, Roman Catholicism, Secret Relationship, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loretto/pseuds/Loretto
Summary: Following directly on from Betsybo's excellent 'Seperation' and 'Joining' series, Ted and Dougal take the next tentative steps forward in their new relationship. Dougal's view of the future is as simple and straight-forward as his mind will allow. With a new group of friends to inspire him, and some unlikely support from others, Dougal's feeling fantastic. What could go wrong? Ted however is struggling to find a balance between his vocation and his love for Dougal. Will the inevitable calamity of events that follow actually go in his favour this time?Beware of explicit language/sexual references from the beginning. Not intended for readers Under 18.
Relationships: Ted Crilly/Dougal McGuire
Series: Songs of Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734868
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	1. Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betsybo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsybo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Joining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977442) by [betsybo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsybo/pseuds/betsybo). 



> This work was inspired by Betsybo's excellent 'Separation' and 'Joining' works, following on directly from 'Joining' and referencing events in this series throughout. This work is posted with Betsybo's kind permission and full credit goes to the original author. It is not intended to take over from the eagerly anticipated next chapter in the original work - the mission here was to expand on the limited amount of Ted and Dougal fic out there for the TedHeads who are keen on the concept of their forbidden togetherness. 
> 
> If you haven't read 'Separation' and 'Joining' they come hotly recommended - warm fuzzy feelings await!
> 
> RIP Dermot Morgan - a supernova burned out too soon.

_Tenderness_ , Ted thought as his limbs trembled and the fire of sexual consummation burned through his belly, _this tenderness is the greatest pleasure between us._

Dougal’s fiery ejaculation came seconds after Ted's as he indulged in the grippingly sweet pleasure of making the man he loved come for the second time. The younger priest whined, trembled and then shouted out ‘Ted!’ in an alarmed delightfulness at the sheer force with which jets of come exploded from his loins. His eyes snapped open in a mixture of bewilderment, fear and pleasure. His body had never felt the hot waves of ecstasy that pinned him to the mattress like gravity before. He whimpered and gasped as his milky-white seed streamed onto his belly, the duvet and over Ted’s hand, making it warm and wet and slick with the sweet cream of his passions. Ted,’ Dougal cried again, this time almost apologetically, as his body shook with the strength of his pleasure. He’d relaxed back into Ted’s chest, shuddering and whimpering with the hot white delicious shock that his own body was capable of such loveliness, “Ted, I’ve...”

“It’s ok, you’re all right,” Ted whispered, nuzzling into his jawline, “It’s natural. It’s nothing to be worried about. Please, Dougal. Don’t be scared now.”

The younger man shivered and tucked himself closer into Ted’s loving, protective hold, allowing himself to be comforted and supported through his first shared sexual experience. He reached for Ted’s hand, laced his fingers through it and held it close to his chest.

“Oh God, Ted - I,” Dougal swallowed deeply, trying to moisten the lips that had become dry from his whimpering and laboured breathing, “Ted, all my insides are shaking now. My legs feel weird.”

“Its ok, they’re supposed to. Just relax and enjoy the after-shock,” Ted had encouraged softly, “you needed to come like that. I can tell you’ve been a very good priest. You’ve been holding it in so long you had a huge backlog, so!”

He relaxed into Dougal’s shoulder, allowing the ache in his wrists and thighs to dissipate while his skin still tingled with the arresting reality of their first time. He felt his cock slide from between Dougal’s arse cheeks and noticed the pleasant slipperiness between their skin. In his earlier imaginings of their first sexual union Ted had suspected Dougal would be alarmed and even frightened by his first full-throttle orgasm but so far he had done well. Ted felt a swelling of pride in his heart for him.

“Ted, that was brilliant!!” Dougal said breathily.

Ted felt his cheeks tense as Dougal smiled into his shoulder. He kissed the top of his head and inhaled the scent of Dougal’s excitement through the sweat in his damp hair.

“I thought so too,” he whispered, “thank you for letting me touch you like that.”

“All of this mess now Ted,” Dougal looked down at the streams of come on his belly with suspicion, “will it make you pregnant?”

“No,” Ted laughed, “only women can get pregnant. That’s something we don’t have to worry about, thank God.”

He dropped an amused kiss onto Dougal’s temple and lay enveloping him tightly until the lad’s trembles weakened and his laboured breathing began to wane. Ted didn’t want to peel away from the skin-to-skin contact between his chest and Dougal’s back until his lover had fully recovered from his first proper orgasm, least Dougal felt used or abandoned by a premature breaking of physical closeness so soon after their emotional bond had entered new territory. They lay together in silence but held tight for a few minutes, relaxing into the rhythm of the aftermath of their shared pleasure, feeling and sharing every jerk, tremble and shudder between them. When he felt Dougal’s tensed muscles begin to ease and he was sure his lover was recovered Ted tenderly kissed his cheek.

“I’ll get that flannel now Dougal,” he said softly.

“Ok Ted,” Dougal nodded. While his breath was caught he still felt pinned to the bed by his own pleasure, “will you do it, Ted? I can’t move...”

“Ok,” Ted whispered. He warmed the cold cloth against his hands as he wiped them clean of Dougal’s come and then tenderly pressed it to Dougal’s stomach. He gently mopped up the evidence of their passion for each other from the younger priest’s torso and then studied Dougal’s cock. It had been a thick, veiny, throbbing member just minutes ago but now it was easing slowly back into a flaccid position, lolling lazily towards Dougal’s left hip, happily exhausted. With care and love Ted lifted his lover’s cock into the flannel and wiped it clean. Dougal sighed lightly. Ted concentrated then on his own cock and mopping up what was left of his own expulsions from his hips. A jet of come glistened in the small of Dougal’s back just above the point where his arse cheeks met. Ted dabbed at it softly and Dougal stifled a giggle. “I never thought you’d be wiping my arse for me now Ted,” he chuckled through half-open eyes. Ted laughed and nodded upwards to acknowledge the joke but he didn’t complain. It was only the start of what he was prepared to do for the man he loved. The sheer strength of his love and adoration for Dougal would see him laying down his life yet.


	2. A Very Catholic Sort of Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dougal's had a great night and has an appetite to match. Ever the responsible one, however, Ted can't relax.

Ted woke the next morning to a triangle of yellow sunlight through the window and the familiar pressure of a sleepy Dougal nudging into his shoulder with his nose, silently asking to be held and cuddled. Ted sleepily shifted his position and opened his arm. Dougal tucked himself into the crook of it like a jigsaw piece and rested his head on Ted’s chest. Ted welcomed him in close and dropped a kiss into his hair. He loved these early morning cuddles where he could savour the pleasure of holding Dougal tight to his chest while watching him slowly wake from his slumber. Dougal wriggled and nestled, as if trying to climb into Ted, to be as one with him as much as possible.

  
“You can’t get any closer to me, Dougal,” Ted whispered. 

  
“Sorry Ted,” Dougal sighed and promptly tucked his nose into Ted’s armpit, not yet ready to wake and face another day of physical separation from his man.

  
Ted reached his right hand up and tenderly stroked Dougal’s hair as if to assist him with the business of waking up after a long and tiring night. A passing concern began to lay heavier on his mind and heart. There was no going back now. Kisses and cuddles could be excused as misplaced affection between two sex-starved friends. The physical touching and the shared climax could not. He needed to check how Dougal felt this morning now that a new boundary in their union had been crossed. 

  
“Are you all right, Dougal?” Ted asked, “about what happened last night?”

  
He felt Dougal’s lips play a small, amused smile against his arm. Without warning Dougal shifted his hips and pressed an impressive morning glory into Ted’s thigh. Ted gave little gasp as he felt the hardness against his muscle. His heart danced.

  
“Yes Ted,” Dougal whispered. He blinked open his eyes and turned his face to Ted’s. They caught each other’s gaze, confirming silently that neither regretted their actions. Dougal surprised Ted with a tender kiss pressed softly, almost nervously, to his lips. After a few gentle pecks he licked at Ted’s lips, requesting entry, and searched for his tongue as Ted let his mouth open to welcome him. Their bodies pressed closer together as they shared a long and lazy kiss. 

  
“I just wanted to check that it wasn’t all too much for you,” Ted whispered as the kiss broke, “it’s all very new to you and I don’t want you to feel overwhel-.”

  
He was cut off by another assertive kiss from Dougal, silenced by his lover’s tender confirmation of his comfort and well-being. 

  
“I loved it Ted,” Dougal whispered. His fingertips reached to trace Ted’s eyebrows as he gazed into the older priest’s grey-blue eyes, “it was the best night of my life.”

  
“Was it?” Ted asked, his smile reaching into his eyes, “what did you like best about what we did?’

  
He felt the burn in Dougal’s cheeks as the young priest blushed and looked down at his chest. An embarrassed but playful smile danced on his lips. Ted hoped he wasn’t pushing him too far but felt it was important to check in with these things and encourage conversation about them if they were to maintain safe boundaries. He gave Dougal time to think.

  
“I liked it when you were rocking against me,” Dougal said finally, “and oh wow Ted when you touched me…I didn’t know my lad could feel like that.”

  
“What if I told you it could feel better still?”

  
“No way,” Dougal laughed, “it felt so good I thought it was going to drop off! How can it feel better?”

  
“Well there are other things I can do with and to you,” Ted told him in an excited, close whisper, “other things I can try. Was there anything you didn’t like?” 

  
“N-no, Ted, I liked it all,” Dougal said in a shy, nervous voice. Ted wondered if there was something else he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words. He gave him more time but the embarrassment was too much. He buried his nose into Ted’s arm-pit again, “I love you, Ted.”

  
Ted felt his heart race around inside his chest, trampolining against his rib-cage in pure joy. He pulled Dougal close for another tight squeeze, dropping kisses all over his head.

  
“I love you too,” he told him, “very much. Now we’ve slept late. It’s nearly half-past eleven. Mrs. Doyle will be wondering where we are. We should get up.”

  
“Ahh no, Ted,” Dougal protested, and snuggled against him against him again, “let’s cuddle a little longer.”

  
“Dougal what do you think Mrs. Doyle and Father Jack will think if we stay in bed all day?” Ted asked, “they might think that we’re ill or very very lazy.”

  
“Well we are, Ted,” Dougal said.

  
“We are not Dougal, we are very hard-working servants of God!”

  
“Ahhh not really, Ted. We don’t get up til 11, we have brunch and then a nap and then afternoon tea and maybe play a game or something and then dinner...”

  
“Yes and we do Mass and weddings and funerals and things like that,” Ted pointed out.

  
“That’s not really work though Ted,” Dougal said, rolling over and propping himself up on his forearms, “that’s just getting dressed up in a robe and being a bit mad for a while.”

  
“It’s not Dougal, it’s a very important occupation!” Ted admonished, “you know Dougal I don’t think you take being a priest very seriously at all.” 

  
“Priests are a bit useless really Ted. It’s not like a real job, like being a farmer or driving a monster truck or that time I was a milkman,” Dougal said.

  
“And if I remember correctly Dougal, you didn’t enjoy being a milkman very much at all,” Ted pointed out. He thought back to the unadulterated panic he felt when he thought Dougal might be in harm’s way on that fecking milk float. How frustrated he’d been when the other priests could only suggest saying a mass to help him. Being a priest felt pretty close to useless in that one horrifying moment but Ted kept this reflection to himself. He wondered if he should have paid more attention to those fears at the time. He didn’t think he loved Dougal then but…did his heart love him long before his head came to realise? He brought himself back to the present and cleared his throat, “no...you’re far safer being a priest. It means I can keep a close eye on you and take care of you.”

  
“I love being your curate Ted,” Dougal smiled. He didn’t care much for masses himself but he enjoyed helping Ted put on his robes. Their time together in the vestry had been the highlight of his week for years. In fact he enjoyed helping Ted with just about anything. 

  
“If you want to carry on being my curate you’d better get up then,” Ted said, “and remember...it’s very important not to say a word to anyone about any of the things we did last night. Otherwise you can’t be my curate and I can’t be your pastor anymore.”

  
“You’re right there, Ted,” Dougal nodded.

  
They tore themselves away from each other to prepare for the day. Ted took his towel and pondered on what to do after his shower. Should he take his clothes to dress in the bathroom or dress in the bedroom? Was now the time to start dressing and undressing in front of each other?

  
He glanced at Dougal who was also pondering to himself, taking a long time to decide which colour vest to wear. He thought about how Dougal had not yet felt comfortable to touch him. He was yet to even set eyes on Ted’s cock. That was ok, Ted thought. In fact he drew some comfort from his own self-restraint, knowing that he hadn’t put Dougal under any pressure. He hoped Dougal might want to touch him one day but that would come with time and Dougal’s growing confidence. Ted could be patient for him. Kisses, cuddles and pleasing Dougal was more than enough until then. In the meantime, he had to balance his love for Dougal with being discreet and unthreatening. Perhaps parading himself naked in front of Dougal this morning would be a step to far. He gathered up his clothes and went to shower as usual.

  
When he returned Dougal was dressed and ready for his day but rather than bounding downstairs for his breakfast he had waited patiently in the bedroom for Ted, his hands clasped nervously in front of him. Ted smiled with a love that swelled his heart with pride as he admired how smart Dougal looked today in his trousers, shirt, dog collar and scarlet red vest.

  
“...I-I wanted another cuddle Ted,” he explained, “before we can’t cuddle anymore.”

  
Ted reached out his hands to gently stroke his lover’s pink, flushed cheek and straightened his collar in his protective, nurturing way. Dougal allowed Ted to fuss over his collar and hair, enjoying the feel of Ted’s preening, before the need to hold his lover and breathe him in overwhelmed him.

  
“Ted, a cuddle!” he whined. 

  
“Quickly then,” Ted smiled humorously. He opened his arms and Dougal stepped into them, embracing Ted by the waist as he felt Ted’s arms encircle his shoulders. Ted spoke softly into Dougal’s ear, “you know, Dougal, it hurts when I can’t hold you during the day. You do know that don’t you? When I have to push you away what I really want to do is cuddle you like this.”

  
“Yes Ted,” Dougal said pleasantly. 

  
“Give me a quick kiss,” Ted smiled. He bent his head and darted a tongue over Dougal’s rose-red lips. Dougal responded by parting them and allowed Ted to roam around inside his mouth, gently seeking out Dougal’s tongue with his own. Dougal gave a tiny sigh of pleasure and Ted knew it was time to break the kiss and all contact for the rest of the day before either of them felt a stirring between their legs. He pecked at Dougal’s lips twice as he pulled away, “that’s it now. No more. And remember to be careful what you say and do in front of Father Jack and Mrs. Doyle.”

  
“I will Ted,” Dougal nodded, and to be fair to the innocent young priest he’d done exceptionally well at keeping the secret thus far. 

  
Ted took his place at the breakfast table and scanned the morning paper while Mrs. Doyle clattered in with her tea tray. She was humming lightly, a tea-towel tucked into the pocket of her smock. Ted eyed her with a nervous suspicion. Had she heard anything from their room last night?

  
“Good morning Father,” she beamed, “did you sleep well?”

  
“Ahem,” Ted cleared his throat and decided to test the water, “wonderfully thank you Mrs. Doyle. And yourself?”

  
“Oh like a log,” Mrs. Doyle smiled as she poured Ted’s tea. Ted eased into his chair, relieved, and tried to fight the urge to study her eyes for signs that she might have overheard Dougal’s alarmed yells and soft whimpers. He knew her face well enough to spot when she wasn’t happy. A slightly uncomfortable downturn of her mouth, a wrinkle that didn’t reach her eyes when she smiled. Today she seemed her usual self. Ted relaxed. 

  
Dougal bounded down a few moments later and slid his body sideways onto his chair. His face was flushed and his eyes were wide as he looked at the breakfast table longingly. He clasped his hands to his belly.

  
“Oh I’m hungry today Mrs. Doyle,” he said as he eyed his empty plate, “I’m looking forward to a huge breakfast. With two eggs. And four sausages.”

  
Mrs Doyle laughed delightedly. 

  
“Very well Father Macguire,” she said, pleased to be asked to feed a hungry priest at last, “a big breakfast it is. With two eggs, four sausages, and toast with all the corners cut off.”

  
“And cut into soldiers!” Dougal called after her as she tottered to the kitchen, “to dip in me eggs!”

  
Ted looked at Dougal over his tea-cup. So the young priest was hungrier than usual. It was no surprise given the exhaustion of the previous night. Dougal had worked up quite the appetite. He watched Dougal move into a ray of sunlight from the window that ignited his auburn hair and made it glow like a halo as he lined up his cereal box toys in his child-like, innocent way. Ted felt a brick of guilt thud into his chest as if thrown there by the angry thug who wreaked havoc in the darkest corner of his heart. Dougal’s childlike innocence, his wide-eyed naivety. Had he exploited his charge’s natural habit of looking to him for leadership and guidance? He felt a trickle of shame and horror prickle at his spine and wash through his entire nervous system. Somehow, being in the common room they shared with Mrs. Doyle and Father Jack, he didn’t feel so comfortable about the previous night’s escapades at all.

  
Of his own faith and morality Ted felt a sudden angry dog barking inside the dark cave of his consciousness, threatening and unrelenting. He would be damned for all eternity, that much was obvious, but exactly how far had he wandered from the framework of Catholicism that gave him his strength, his routine, his accommodation, friends and vocation? Could he find a balance between his calling for the priesthood and his faith in God alongside his love for Dougal? 

  
Mrs. Doyle proudly presented both priests with a particularly elaborate cooked breakfast - extra black pudding for Ted and four sausages already cut up into pieces for Dougal. A fan of toast soldiers had been arranged on the outside of his plate, ready to dip into his two soft-boiled eggs.

  
“Wow!” Dougal’s eyes were wide as he surveyed his feast, “thank you Mrs. Doyle!”

  
“You know, I was thinking Fathers, we go through so many eggs we should get our own chickens,” Mrs. Doyle mused.

She glanced at Ted. He was staring into his cup of tea, distracted from the business of breakfast altogether.

  
“Chickens!” Dougal grinned, “wow! What would you want chickens for now Mrs. Doyle?”

  
“For the eggs, Father,” Mrs. Dougal suspected she was about to be presented with a dose of Dougal’s innate stupidity and looked to Ted to help her but he continued to gaze, his mind far away.

  
“Do chickens lay eggs?” Dougal asked as he dipped a soldier into the golden yellow yolk.

  
“Yes Father,” Mrs. Doyle smiled, “where did you think they came from?”

  
“Oh, I don’t know...” Dougal blushed, “dinosaurs or something like that.” 

  
Mrs. Doyle laughed and put her hand to his shoulder as he tucked into his food with gusto. She watched him enjoy the fruits of her labour in the kitchen with pride and gazed on him as she would her own son. 

  
Father Crilly hadn’t touched his breakfast. He continued to stare into his cup of tea as if expecting to find the meaning of life there within it.

  
“Father Crilly,” she said to him softly, “is there something wrong with your breakfast?”

  
Ted blinked, momentarily rattled from the depths of his contemplation.

  
“Hmm?” He looked up at her, “oh no, Mrs. Doyle, really, I’m fine.”

  
“You’re staring into space like Neil Armstrong,” Mrs. Doyle laughed.

  
“Yes, I’m sorry...I’ve a lot on my mind about the -“ he paused, and then it came to him, “the Church. I’ve got to sort some things out at the Church today. Dougal!”

  
His tone was abrupt, authoritarian, almost an order for attention. Dougal, who had been using a toast soldier to draw smiley faces in egg yolk, jumped. His eyes widened. Ted only barked at him like that when he was doing something wrong. He dropped the soldier immediately and moved to take up his fork.

  
“Yes Ted?” he asked nervously. 

  
“Don’t forget you’ve to take Jack out for his walk this morning,” Ted said gruffly, “I’ve got to go and sort out some business at the Church. Make sure you put your coat on this time and don’t be taking Jack into any more pubs again. I won’t have time to come and rescue you when you can’t get him out of there. Do you hear?”

  
A burn, scarlet red, crept into Dougal’s cheeks as he listened Ted’s stern commands. Ted sounded irritated, almost angry with him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong between the loving kiss Ted had asked him for upstairs and the moment when he sat down for breakfast. He thought about chickens and dinosaurs. Was it that he’d said something stupid again?

  
“Er...yes, Ted,” Dougal nodded earnestly.

  
“Right so,” Ted nodded at Dougal’s plate, “finish up your breakfast and then get Jack ready. And please just...try not to get involved in any silliness today.”

  
Dougal looked down at his sausages to hide the burn of tears in the corner of his eyes. Ted tried a bit of his toast but his mouth was too dry to chew. He looked at the rest of his food and knew he didn’t have the stomach for it. The washing machine of guilt was churning within him and the thought of forcing himself to plough through his breakfast stretched out before him like a marathon. The toast clagged in his dry mouth and stuck to his teeth like clay. He put it down, took a swill of tea to wash it down, and stood up. 

  
“I’m going to the Church,” he announced, “I’ll be gone until this afternoon.”

  
“But Father you’ve barely touched...” Mrs. Doyle began.

  
“Really Mrs. Doyle, I’m not hungry,” Ted said apologetically as he swung his arms his anorak, “I’ll see you all later.”

  
Seconds later the front door banged and he was gone. Mrs. Doyle blinked at his empty place at the table and the rejected breakfast she had so lovingly prepared. She and Dougal listened to the car door and the sound of the engine as Ted turned it over and then sped up the drive. Dougal’s eyes turned to Ted’s plate.

  
“I...” Dougal began, blinking away the sting of tears in his eyes, “I’ll eat Ted’s breakfast, Mrs. Doyle. I’m so hungry today I could eat a donkey.”

  
Mrs. Doyle brightened.

  
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she passed Ted’s plate across the table, “with you eating like a whale and Father Crilly eating like a bird who knows what’s going on.”


	3. Broadened Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dougal stumbles into an interesting meeting. Meanwhile, Father Jack is starting to mellow.

Bundled up in his scarf and coat as per Ted’s orders, Dougal pushed Father Jack in his wheelchair on their daily visit to the town. The air was cold and bitter with a light but icy rain sheeting down on top of them. Dougal has forgotten his gloves and his hands were red raw against the freezing elements. He longed to put them in his pockets or take Jack inside somewhere so they could warm up. He eyed the pub in the near distance and thought of the roaring fire that would be going on inside. How great it would be to park Jack next to it and share a pint while they both thawed out from the chill. Then, remembering the time Jack poked the fire with his walking stick and set fire to the barmaid’s skirt Dougal recalled Ted’s instructions not to even consider taking Jack into into the pub by himself again. Another bitingly cold walk around the market square would have to do instead.

  
And anyway Dougal didn’t have enough money for a couple of pints. His wages, like those of the other priests, went straight into the Parochial house pot. Ted usually managed the finances and paid them each a small amount of personal spends each week after the rent and bills had been paid. They had recently had to pay for a window to be repaired after Jack unceremoniously jumped out of it. Their pocket money had been tight this month. After paying for his new clothes, his comic book subscription and the game he bought when Ted took him to the mainland Dougal had only coppers left in his little coin purse. He shivered in the cold wind and wished he had a real job that would pay a decent wage. 

  
Usually a chatterbox, Dougal was abnormally quiet and this change of behaviour wasn’t lost on Jack. He pretended to be asleep but his ear, ever cocked, was open to clues about what might be troubling the young priest. Dougal proffered none. 

  
His thoughts whirred around the moment he came the first time, sudden and abrupt, almost without warning. It had been so quick. And then the memory of Ted getting back into bed with his own lad still standing to attention, his pleasure left unfed. Dougal wouldn’t have been able to sleep with his lad bothering him like that, but Ted hadn’t expected him to return any favours. That was sweet of him, Dougal thought. He wished he’d been able to find the words to tell Ted how much he wanted to touch his lad for him but he was too nervous, too scared, because had absolutely no idea how to touch in a way that would bring his lover the right sort of pleasure. He didn’t want to embarrass himself, he didn’t want to hurt Ted by accident. Most of all he didn’t want to disappoint him. He hoped Ted would be happy to keep pleasing him for a while. It was helping Dougal to learn more about what he could do for Ted. Father Jack sparked into life and disturbed Dougal’s quiet reflections with an familiar demand that brought the young priest back to the present. 

  
“Drink! Drink!” Jack bugled as they approached the pub. A waft of beer-smelling air escaped as the pub door opened and a couple of farmers fell out into the street, holding on to each other and laughing wildly at some shared joke, “Drink! Gobshite! Drink!”

  
“Ahh not today Jack,” Dougal sighed, He closed one eye and recoiled in anticipation of a sharp clip around the head from Jack’s walking cane. “anyway I’ve got some whiskey for you in the bag. You can have that in a while.”

  
There was a heaviness to that sigh and Jack felt an uncharacteristic sliver of compassion towards the boy. He kept his hands on his walking cane and resisted the urge to reach back and beat him with it. He could hold out for the whiskey, he thought. Just.  
When the storm of blows from the cane failed to rain down on Dougal’s head an idea struck him. It was Wednesday, and on Wednesdays the little tea bar in the village hall was open for lunch. He could take Jack inside and probably scrape together enough money for a cup of tea to warm himself up for their walk home. 

  
“This will do,” Dougal said to Jack as the approached the village hall. A brightly coloured poster on the board outside caught his eye. “LGBT Pride March” it said against a backdrop of a clover leaf filled with all the colours of the rainbow. Dougal didn’t know what LGBT stood for. He tried to guess. Could it mean Lego Builders and Gamers Together? Lots of Gobshites Talking Bollocks? He didn’t know. But he liked the rainbow. The colours made him feel cheerful. 

  
He reversed Jack’s chair into the hall where the smell of tea mixed with the fusty hue left behind by decades of jumble sales and second-hand book swaps. The hall was small but cosy. A tea bar was open against the left wall and a few tables and chairs were scattered about. Someone had covered the tables in a mismatch of cloths that had failed to appeal to even the most hardcore jumble sale customers. A few sprigs of tired-looking fake flowers had been jammed into equally mismatched vases to brighten the place up a bit. Dougal thought it was brilliant how they had managed to pick the summer flowers at the end of February. 

  
A few logs burned in a fireplace. Dougal parked Jack’s chair next to it and reached down for his knapsack. Inside, Mrs. Doyle had placed a bottle of whiskey and Jack’s sippy cup. Dougal furtively glanced around the hall. A small group of six or seven people had taken up the long table on the back wall and were busy looking at rainbow-coloured placards. There were five men, done up with very fashionable haircuts, and two women who huddled together by the window. They held hands as they watched the men staple a colourfully painted bedsheet around two poles. 

  
“...so what we need is some statistics about same-sex marriage in England and America,” a man in a ripped white t-shirt and floppy blonde hair was saying to the group, “to get the message out there that other countries have passed the law and Ireland is way, way behind.”

  
“And maybe something about adoption too,” the girl in the mini-skirt suggested, “help people to understand how same-sex marriage creates families for disadvantaged children.”

  
“Good point,” a studious-looking fellow in a sharp blue suit and an impeccably groomed beard agreed. He made a note on his laptop.

  
Dougal wondered if the group were preparing for some sort of protest as he sneakily poured a slosh of whiskey into the sippy cup. He managed to replace the whiskey bottle without anyone noticing that he was plying Jack with his mid-morning drink in public. Gingerly he handed it to the elderly priest, who had refused a wash and still had last night’s supper stuck to his two-day stubble. Father Jack’s eyes brightened.

  
“Drink!” he yelled. All seven of the protesters looked over at him as he seized the cup with delight and tugged thirsty on the spout. 

  
Dougal blushed and glanced up at them, giving them a friendly but rather awkward wave. The group looked at Dougal and then at each other in apparent surprise. Dougal assumed they were shocked to see a priest guzzling down whiskey and looked at his shoes. He could feel them still looking at him. He ached for Ted, who would know what to say.

  
“All right, so,” he said, repeating his little wave, “fine day isn’t it?”

  
He fished in his pocket for his little leather coin purse. It was green and stamped with gold lettering that boasted ‘I’ve kissed the Holy Stone’. He’d won it in a Christmas raffle a few years before and treasured it because he was never lucky enough to win anything for himself. Ted had never told him he’d rigged the raffle so Dougal would be happy that he’d won a little something. He shook the coins and counted out his money. He had 75p. The price of a cup of tea at the tea bar was £1. He was 25p short. Where was Mrs. Doyle and her never ending flow of hot, sweet milky tea when you needed her?

  
Deflated, he moved to put the coin purse away when a £5 note fell forward. Dougal blinked, initially excited that he could afford the tea after all and then puzzled about how it got there. He knew he didn’t have a £5 note before. A little slip of paper had been folded up inside it. Dougal took it out and read it. _“For a cup of tea and the bus journey back if it starts to rain again. Don’t get so cold next time.”_ it said in Ted’s neat print. He must have put it there when Dougal came home frozen to the bone yesterday, a little emergency stash to ensure Dougal’s comfort. Dougal’s heart swelled. Ted was the tightest man he knew. He knew how much it would have pained him to give up that £5 note.

  
He left Jack to drink his whiskey and went to join the queue for tea. There was a selection of little cakes and biscuits too. He felt his belly rumble. Despite his huge breakfast he was hungry again and the cakes looked fantastic. The man in a ripped white t-shirt sidled up to him. Dougal turned briefly and nodded amicably at him as he stirred milk and 5 sugar cubes into his little tea cup. 

  
“All right, so?” the man asked. Blonde hair flopped into his eyes and Dougal sensed an air of nervous suspicion about him. He stuck out a hand, “Fintan O’Shea.”

  
“Ah,” Dougal wiped his hands down his wet jacket and shook, “Father Dougal Macguire.”

  
“So er...” Fintan nodded at his group, snapping chewing gum noisily, “you don’t mind us being here then?”

  
“What?” Dougal guffawed, “no. What are you doing anyway? Making some sort of protest? What’s it about? Is it about the West cliffs drifting off again? Or about the pigeons in China Town?”

  
“Er, no...” Fintan looked at Dougal, puzzled. He waved a non-committal hand at the various rainbow-coloured logo prototypes that had been taped to a flip chart, “we’re er...planning for the Pride parade next month. Deciding a brand for Craggy Island, that kind of thing. We’ve got our sponsor coming to see a presentation later on. It’s a big deal, like.”

  
“Pride parade!” Dougal’s eyes became as wide as teacups. He had no idea what the man was talking about, “I had no idea Craggy Island had that much to be proud of! Though it’s better than Rugged Island I’d say. That place is terrible.”

  
Fintan eyed Dougal closely, trying to figure out if the young priest was being sarcastic, trying to show a polite, civil sort of interest or was quite simply thick beyond all measurable doubt.

  
“We’re proud to be gay men and women,” Fintan explained slowly, “and proud of the love between two men or two women.”

  
Dougal’s eyes stretched wider. He thought he’d heard Ted say something about the Church taking a dim view of ‘that kind of thing’ but any concern he had for the Church was eclipsed by the dawning realisation that other men did love other men, just like he and Ted loved each other. And if other men were proud to love one another perhaps he could one day he and Ted could be proud of their love too. But first he had to make sure he understood. God he wished Ted was here to help him!

  
“Men and men loving each other? Really?” he took his tea-cup, “that’s brilliant! I mean is it the same sort of love you feel for your family or friends or for your rollerblades?”

  
Dougal kicked himself, knowing instinctively he’d said something stupid. He looked at the floor and tried to remember Ted's explanation of different kinds of love. He trembled a little, feeling out of his depth. His next question felt very brave.

  
“....”or is it that special kind of love you only feel for one person?”

  
Fintan had tensed, prepared for a moral debate on the matter. But he caught the genuine inquisition in Dougal’s wide eyes and the tell-tale way his hand trembled a little when he lifted his cup to his lips. He relaxed, reminding himself he didn’t have to be on the defensive all the time. He figured Dougal was perhaps a little sheltered by the religious life but his question seemed to come from a place of well-meant genuine interest.

  
“The kind you only feel for one person, Father,” he explained, “I know the Church doesn’t support that idea. But we think it’s wonderful. And the parade is about sharing that love with the world. Even if some people don’t like it.”

  
Dougal beamed. A bright, confident smile framed by a sparkling delight in his hazel eyes. Not only had he found other people who understood what it was like to love another man but, for the first time in all of his years as a priest, he finally felt that he had something sensible to say to a real-life member of the public. Something built on personal knowledge and experience. A respectable opinion.

  
“I think it’s just great too,” he said, almost bashfully, “I mean what a man feels for another man is just as important as what a man and a woman feel for each other. I think. Anyway.”

  
Fintan blinked, the fire for moral debate in his belly extinguished. He had expected Dougal to cast a shadow on the concept of a Pride parade and to denounce gay relationships as robotically as he would recite the Mass every Sunday. But here he had a different breed of priest. One capable of his own train of progressive thought and with the confidence to express it. 

  
“I er...” Fintan was so pleasantly taken aback he laughed and put a palm to his face, “I’m glad you think that way, Father. I didn’t expect you to, what with the Church’s position on the Bible and homosexuality and all that.”

  
“Ahh, the Bible,” Dougal nodded. He shrugged his shoulders, “sure it’s just an old fairytale anyway.”


	4. Losing It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted battles with his conflicting heart and head.

Ted had taken himself for a little drive before parking at the Church. He drove around the circumference of the tiny island, taking in the cliffside views and thinking, thinking, thinking. His mind was a spaghetti junction of confusion, awash with chaotic thoughts of Dougal, his vows, the original sin, of touching Dougal and making him spend his come, of spending his own come, of rib-shattering guilt, Bishop Brennan and what would happen to Jack and Mrs. Doyle if his secret came out. His thoughts fluttered into his consciousness as briefly as a bee might visit a flower, there for just long enough to begin to concentrate before flying off again, to be replaced with a different thought, a new problem, a new source of gut-wrenching angst. 

By the time he had pulled up at the Church the thought of breaking up with Dougal had visited the flower of his mind twice. The empty, hollow pain that followed had been unbearable. He reached a hand to massage the spot on his chest where it burned as if it were possible to ease emotional agony with such a measly physical intervention. He held on to the steering wheel with both hands, pressed his forehead to the cold leather, and allowed himself two or three huge racking sobs. The sound of his own voice, so pained with guilt and confusion, rattled in vibration against his chest. It felt good. It felt like a welcome release of pressure and a chance to allow himself to hear and feel his emotional self speaking out in a world where decorum and self-control was king.

Suddenly he wondered what would come about if anyone saw him wailing like a banshee in his car like that. He quickly dried his eyes on his sleeve and cleared his throat. It wouldn’t do for a parishioner to phone Bishop Len Brennan out of concern for Ted’s welfare. Angry that Ted couldn’t even manage a sleepy little parish like Craggy Island without having a breakdown the Bishop might send him elsewhere. Wherever it was would be even worse version of Ted’s own personal purgatory, continued poverty, chastity and such loneliness without the love of his dear, sweet Dougal to brighten his heart. No, it wouldn’t do. He had to pull himself together and talk to God about his predicament. Perhaps if he confessed and explained his reasons, the Great Lord would send the emotional and mental relief he so desperately craved from his own torments.

He got out of the car, unaware that his sobs had already been seen by the eyes of a curious stranger.


	5. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Doyle reflects on her life at the parochial house as she tidies up after the priest's carelessness.

With the house to herself, Mrs. Doyle allowed herself to sing a little as she washed the breakfast dishes and mopped the kitchen floor. Father Macguire’s hunger this morning had both amused and delighted her. His request for more sausages and his little toast soldiers demonstrated his need for her and the rather eccentric way she gave in to his childlike ways. Although she would never find the big words she needed to describe her feelings she knew that she was comforted and validated by them. Becoming a housekeeper to three priests hadn’t been a childhood ambition but now she was here, living happily alongside people who needed her practical femininity, she would never dream of any other life.

Of course there had been the silly business with Pat Mustard, she thought as she flitted about the common room, happily tidying up after her three charges. That had been a rare time when she allowed herself to entertain a desire to leave the priests and even dared to dream about a second chance at marriage. What a disaster that would have been, with all his sleeping around and leaving hair in the sink and possibly putting his balls in her face. She shook out the Jesus throw on the sofa with more aggression than she intended. What a bastard!

Thank God for Father Crilly saving her from that fate. He'd seen through Pat Mustard and sent Mrs. Doyle to clear away a spider-web while he had words with the philandering milkman. She took Ted’s grey cardigan from where he’d left it screwed up in his armchair, tutting fondly at his carelessness. Yes, although she hadn’t welcomed his interventions at the time, she had come to appreciate that Ted acted out of his sense pastoral protection of her. She folded his cardigan with a tender care, smoothing out the creases and checking buttons didn’t need sewing back on. She allowed herself the indulgence of wondering if Ted had also acted on his own selfish concerns to keep a great housekeeper. The one who makes the best tea he could ever hope to drink, who makes the best meals he’s ever eaten and above all understood the mad ways of the parochial house without question or complaint.

And there was the incident with Eoin McLove. Mrs. Doyle had lost her head to the young TV star and an amused Father Crilly had even indulged it, writing a poem in an attempt to win the prize of Eoin’s visit for tea on her behalf. She had won on her own merit but she appreciated the sweetness of Ted’s efforts to make her happy. She placed the cardigan on the back of Ted’s chair and fluffed out his cushions before arranging his slippers to warm near the fire for his return. He was always having his mad ideas and getting in to scrapes, Mrs. Doyle thought, but he was a kind man at heart.

And what about old Father Hackett with all his drinking and explosive temper and bad language? Mrs. Doyle didn’t know much about the old priest’s history but she doubted very much it included any particular commendations for excellence as a priest. On the surface there was little to appreciate about Father Hackett, she mused as she collected up an armful of empty cans from around his chair and took his ashtray to be emptied. She had met with the end of his walking stick many times and suffered numerous black eyes - intentional or otherwise - as he flailed his arms around in sudden protest. Any perceived threat to the booze-soaked cradle of psychological distraction he created for himself was met with a wild demonstration of his aggression. She had tolerated his bad language for so long she was used to it and heard only white noise as he shouted at her for more drink. But there was a hidden camaraderie to Father Hackett that showed itself so infrequently it was impossible to believe he had one, unless one lived with him and got to know the tiny nuances in his behaviour very well indeed. She remembered the terrifying occasion when Bishop Brennan threatened to send Father Crilly and Father Macguire to different parishes and watched her boys quiver with the horror of being separated. While the two younger priests thought desperately about what to do, Mrs Doyle had seen Father Hackett, in an unusual moment of quick-thinking genius, pull the video tape of the Bishop’s holiday out of his travelling bag. Their dysfunctional but happy family unit was saved. Jack, surprisingly modest, demanded no recognition for his heroism. He said no more of it and simply went back to sleep.

 _They’ve all got a close relationship_ , Mrs. Doyle reflected on her way up the stairs with some clean shirts for all three priests.

 _Especially Father Crilly and Macguire,_ she thought as she pushed their bedroom door open.

She chuckled that after only one night apart, they realised they had become such good friends they couldn’t sleep in their own bedrooms. Father Crilly was an expert at calming Father Macguire’s crazy thoughts about monsters and beasts and spiderbabies. They were like two mischievous schoolboys staying up half the night to have their lads chats about football and girls and that kind of thing. Well, perhaps not girls, she thought, but lads stuff all the same. It had taken her some work to move Ted’s things from room to room but that night she had slept soundly, happy to know they were together again where Ted could look after Dougal in the night. They are best friends, they are brothers in Christ and the-....

The scene that greeted her as she stepped into the room made her drop her pile of freshly ironed black shirts.

The two beds, usually separated by a small nightstand, had been pushed together.

On purpose.


	6. Old Faces, New Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Dougal and Father Jack share an enlightening moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the homophobic language (I'm in no way homophobic myself and I hope this fic is evidence of that!) but it's the best way I could encapsulate the inappropriateness of Jack.

“-so what we’re trying to achieve here is to raise awareness of homosexual relationships, make them less threatening so people will feel safer when they try to understand,” Fintan explained, “I guess when you’ve been told by the Church - sorry, Father - all your life that being gay is bad it’s going to take the public some time to warm to the idea that really, it’s ok.”

“Right,” Dougal nodded.

He’d been led over to the group and introduced to Fintan’s friends Joe, Jeff, Marty and Mitch and the two women, Margot and Roseen. In similar circumstances Dougal would feel an intense and awkward nervousness that resulted in wide eyes, flushed cheeks and a gradual retreat behind Ted’s more sophisticated command in small talk where he could be safe from the humiliation of his tendency to ask stupid questions. Today, however, he felt a relaxed confidence and a genuine interest in what the group had to say.

“We’ve got a sponsor this year,” Fintan said excitedly, “Louis Walsh has agreed to donate some funds to make it a really special Pride. We’re going to get a stage set up, outside, you know...and he’s going to send a few of his biggest artists over to sing live.”

“Wow!” Dougal said, pleasantly aghast, “will they all be celebrities? God Ted will LOVE that!” 

“Who’s Ted?” Fintan asked.

“Oh he’s the pastor,” Dougal said, “he’s always trying to hobnob with people who are famous and all that.”

“He won’t mind about the gay thing?” 

“Ahh he won’t care about that if there’s famous people about,” Dougal shrugged, “he’ll love the glitz and glamour.”

Father Jack, having awoken from a cosy whiskey-induced slumber, opened one eye and watched the young priest as he talked to parishioners like...well, like a priest!! And he seemed to be doing a good job of it too. No disasters yet. Except what was that they were making? Signs about gay equality?

“Arse! Gobshite!” he shouted urgently. He was ignored and shouted again for Dougal’s attention, “hey, you, Gobshite!”

Dougal smiled apologetically at his new friends and turned to Jack who was slamming his fists on his lap in a bid to be heard.

“Arse! Arse! Gobshite! Arses!”

“Ah come on Jack,” he said, “Ted said you were only allowed to call me Gobshite in the house.”

“Gobshite,” Jack repeated, determined. He flailed an arm towards the group and desperately pursed his lips to make the right sound, “p...p...pufters!”

Dougal paused, momentarily embarrassed but also suddenly aware that Jack had been trying to warn him, as if he perceived a danger from which he wanted to protect the younger priest. A small diamond of misplaced kindness, hidden among the outright offensive rocks of Jack’s rough exterior. 

Dougal knelt to him and their eyes - hazel to milky white - met at a point of mutual understanding. Dougal found a hidden facet within Jack and saw his genuine concern for him because somewhere in there, Jack had the ability to care. Jack saw, with no major previous suspicion and no future doubt at all, that Dougal was gay. 

“Pufter?” he shouted, and his voice wavered between an insult and a question of the young priest he realised - with sudden clarity - that he had come to be quite fond of.  
———


	7. A Plea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A desperate Ted seeks guidance from God about his predicament.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself by opening the main door to the Church of which he was pastor, Ted used his key to unlock the side door and slipped in without fanfare. 

The familiar scent of aging wooden pews and incense permeated his nostrils as he felt the quiet, contemplative stillness found only in Churches. Many times in the past he had found these familiarities comforting, like an old friend, but today they felt oppressive, stifling. He was reminded him of the stern disapproval of his own father who could only find fault in anything the young entrepreneur Edward Crilly put his mind to. Until Ted caved in to pressure and agreed to join the priesthood, that was.

He wriggled out of his rain-soaked anorak and hung it to dry in the vestry. He rolled up his black shirt sleeves to his elbows and ran his open hands though his thatch of silver-grey hair a few times as he took a few strides up and down the mystic box of privacy kept only for priests and curates. The irony of such a place was not lost on him. Eventually he was ready for his reckoning with God.

He strode into the empty Church and faced the altar, looking up at the pained expression of Jesus as he gazed down from his eternal prison on the cross. Ted immediately felt a stab of guilt. His own personal pains and tortures were pathetic in comparison to the suffering of the Lord and Jesus’ pupilless, marble eyes saw fit to remind him of that. Again. Frustrated, Ted straddled a chair in front of the altar. Bishop Brennan would go mad if he saw Ted strike such a casual pose in the Lord’s house but Ted was here to speak from his heart, on an equal level with his God, his religion and with his vocation. Most of all he was here to speak with his own soul and conscience.

“Father God,” he began, “I’m speaking to you as a humble servant these past 20 years. Even longer if you count the time I spent miming as a choir boy. 

I don’t know when I decided to join the priesthood, or even if I decided at all. My da was always keen that I’d do it and by then I’d driven him so mad with my bad judgement and crazy schemes that he dropped me off outside the priest college and just left me there. So I had to get on with it to keep a roof over my head you know?

And I want you to know that when I took those vows I really meant to try. I did, Father. I’ve kept my faith, I confess my sins to you and encourage the faith of others. In the traditional sense of the word I’m still a virgin, Lord! Yes I’ve had my temptations. Those girls in Las Vegas and Polly Clarke. But I didn’t cave in to them. 45 years old and still a fecking virgin!

I admit I’ve done some silly things. The incident with the Lourdes money was just a brief lapse in common sense. I meant to pay it back. And ever since I’ve been serving my penance on this god forsaken island, nursing an alcoholic, housing an eccentric woman and guiding a lad without much in the brain cell department and all while living in poverty, chastity and feeling the shame, guilt and humiliation every day of my life since. It’s made me a poor and broken man Father God but I soldier on anyway. If not for you then to keep that bastard Brennan off my back for a while.

I’ve given up yearning for fame and fortune. They were the fantasies of a younger man and I’ve matured. Really, I have. I could have gone to America after all and had all of that glamorous life. I turned back at the very last minute because I realised my calling is here, with this parish, and I sacrificed my dream to serve this Church. I thought that would be enough to satisfy you, Father, but no! There’s more torment yet! 

Because you’ve sent me Dougal. Father Dougal McGuire. He was 22 when he came to me, a little scrap of a thing barely out of priest school who’d already brought disgrace on himself. By accident I should add, because for all of his foibles there isn’t a bad bone in his body. Yes he irritated the socks off me at first with his stupid questions and his perception of a world so far removed from reality I wonder if he isn’t brilliantly mad sometimes. But he’s grown up a little under me. I’ve taught him to listen, I’ve counselled his many doubts about the faith, I’ve nurtured his confidence and I’ve protected him from the real evils of the Church like Brennan and Byrne because those bastards would chew him up and spit him out given half the chance. And I couldn’t bear it! I can’t stand to see him hurt or shamed or suffering. What he feels I feel ten fold because I live with him, I work with him and for the past seven years I've spent most nights sleeping alongside him while he recovers from nightmares about beasts and ghosts and Carol fecking Vordermann not being able to do a sum on Countdown or some other shite.

And what reward do I get for trying to nurture a younger man to be a better priest than I was? Do I get to see him be better than I am? Do I get to dab a tear from the corner of my eye because he’s done me proud saying Mass to a huge and adoring crowd? No. I do not. What I get is the torment of falling hopelessly in love with him. I get to yearn for his stupid questions and his innate ability to feck up every simple instruction. My body gets to ache for his closeness at night and my private parts get to coax me into committing the greatest sin a man can with his own flesh. But the worst thing about it it all is that my heart gets torn in two because I can’t love him and keep my faith.

Is this a test Father? Because if it is, I’m going to fail. I need your strength more than ever before because...I’m going to fall harder from my tiny podium of grace than I...”

Ted’s voice broke his monologue. Tears stung his eyes and his throat ached with the need to cry out. To wail and scream with the purity of his frustration and pain. Never had he felt so broken before his God. With his life, home, job, security and faith hanging on a cliff-edge he felt his knees weaken. He let himself fall to them, kneeling before the altar and giving out a few racking sobs. He relinquished all shame and began to beseech. 

“Please God, help me,” he begged, “help me to know what to do. Give me the strength I need to handle this crisis. And if not for me or Dougal at least for Mrs. Doyle and Father Jack because what would happen to them if I got sent away? Jack in a home and Mrs. Doyle sent to...to only you know where..."

He listened to his own sobs echoing around the empty church and felt some comfort from hearing his own pain on the outside of his body rather than simply feeling it burning and chewing away on the inside.

“Forgive me Father,” said a cool but familiar voice from the back of the Church. 

Ted spun around. His heart thudded with dread. He felt his whole body begin to tingle with blind panic and sheer horror. A figure, silhouetted against the stained glass window, rose from the back pew and began to make its way down the aisle towards the kneeling, quivering priest at the heart of his greatest confession.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I’m only here to say a prayer for my mother. Old habits die hard,” the figure said, “but it’s only an old social construct that says loving another man is wrong. The Bible also says it’s wrong to eat prawns but we’ve all eaten them every fecking Christmas since 1978.”

“What the feck...?” Ted’s emotions spun around his heart like a roulette wheel, not knowing whether to land on shame, guilt, horror, panic or complete confusion. 

“My belief is that if you feel true love in your heart for someone, man or woman,” said the figure, “then that love isn’t a test from God. It’s a gift. Your challenge is to find a way to let God’s glory channel through it by allowing it to make you happy.”

Ted decided on panic. Whoever this is was would report him to Brennan for sure and before he knew it he’d be on the next plane to some horror parish in inner-city Kowloon. 

“Who are you?” Ted gasped.

The figure moved into the light. It was Louis Walsh.


	8. Appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dougal and Jack grow closer. Mrs. Doyle is haunted by shadows of her own past.

Mrs. Doyle stared at the two beds for a long time, thinking but not really conscious of her thoughts. She noticed how the pillows had been piled up in the centre of the two beds and knew, without a shadow of doubt, that the two priests had been sleeping in each other’s arms.

She absent-mindedly picked up Father McGuire's soiled pyjama bottoms from the floor. She’d discreetly washed the nocturnal emissions from the pants of all three priests many times over the years and she was no longer phased by it. Boys will be boys. But the similar stain on Father McGuire‘s sheet told her a different story. Father Crilly, it appeared, had been on Father McGuire’s side of the bed and had not been wearing any pants at all.

She waited for the steam train of disgust and panic to hit her after the initial shock wore off. But it didn’t come. What came to her was a feeling she realised had been there for longer than her awareness of it. A slow but certain swell of empathy and the arthritic whisper of past grief grew in the space above her rib-cage. 

She sat on the edge of Father Crilly’s bed, reached for his pillow and held it tight as she silently sobbed into it, crying for the loss of her greatest love of all. 

———

A thin but promising sunlight had broken through the clouds when Dougal set off back to the parochial house for afternoon tea. He was pleased. There was no need to get the bus after all and he would appreciate the walk to process his thoughts about his interesting meeting with the LGBT group. They had welcomed him and invited him to their next planning meeting next Wednesday. He couldn’t wait to tell Ted that he’d met men who loved other men and women who loved other women. He’d be delighted they weren’t the only ones, surely? But then Dougal bit his lip. Would Ted worry that he’d told them about his own sexuality? He hadn’t, he’d been very careful of that. But would Ted trust his account or would he lie in bed in the half-light with images of being separated to different parishes disrupting his sleep? Dougal wasn’t sure. Ted had seemed jumpy and distant at breakfast. Perhaps he was already worried. Perhaps Dougal would only make his angst event worse. 

And then there was Jack, who knew he was gay. Even for someone as dim-witted as Dougal the flash of realisation in Jack’s one good eye had been palpable. 

“Pufter,” Jack muttered again as Dougal began the exhausting task of pushing him uphill.

“Now look Jack don’t call me that,” Dougal said to the back of his head, “especially not in front of Ted. It’s not very nice and Ted will go mad.”

“He’s a pufter an all!” Jack announced. 

Dougal stopped pushing. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

Jack pounded his hand on his own chest. 

“Priest,” he said, “seen it a hundred times.”

“Well don’t say anything to Ted,” Dougal said emphatically, “please Jack. I don’t think he could take it. And we might all get split up and then who knows who will end up looking after you. Better the devil you know. Right so?”

“Drink!” Jack chimed. 

Dougal smiled. That brief glance into Jack’s consciousness had helped him to see the pools of inner-depths, facets of his personality hidden by a defensive wall of alcoholism and roguery. Dougal knew that this time, the fanfare of ‘drink!’ was the elderly priest’s way of promising that he would keep his counsel in feigned blissful ignorance, in exchange for a drink to ensure his quiet stupor.


	9. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted finds an unlikely listening ear.

“What did you think you were doing, listening to me like that?” Ted asked dumbfounded as he scrambled to his feet.

“I was here first,” Louis told him, “you just didn’t see me. And then you were so upset I didn’t dare to move. I’m glad I didn’t. You sound like you need someone to talk to.”

Ted folded his arms indignantly.

“Now look,” he said, “you might be some media big shot but it doesn’t mean I’ll be talking to you about any of this so you can go running off to the papers. ‘Priest makes big gay confession!’ This isn’t X-Factor. I’m not trying to sell a sob story.”

Louis took hold of Ted’s shoulder and pushed him gently but forcefully into a nearby pew.

“Do you think I haven’t had my own battles and judgements from the papers in my time?” Louis asked, “where’s the kettle? I’ll make us some tea and if you don’t want to talk, I’ll talk to you instead.”

Ted’s mind was whirring too fast to protest. Louis Walsh for feck’s sake! Had it been any other time Ted would have been bridled by his own star-struck disbelief. But he didn’t have the time or emotional energy for that today. There were bigger matters to think of, such as the absolute certainty that Louis Walsh would be straight on the phone to the Bishop. He looked at the altar and wondered. He'd asked for some help with his predicament, not more layers of complexities to make it worse.

 _'What are you thinking of Lord_?' He asked, ' _if a chance meeting Louis Walsh is the relief I’ve prayed for God, I hope you’re going to help me understand how the feck this particular mercy mission is supposed to work!'_

“So you’re in love with another priest,” Louis re-capped as he brought through two cups of steaming tea, “and you’re torn between your love and your faith.”

“I’m...” Ted’s voice cracked, “no...I’m just confused. And I thought a Church was a safe place to talk to God about it. I’m clearly mistaken.”

“Look,” Louis said, sitting next to Ted, “if you’re worried about the Church finding out you have my word. I’ve been where you are now, all caught up between what society thinks is right and what you feel is right. I’m not a complete bastard. I’m not going to make it any worse for you.”

Ted sipped his tea.

“I was in my teens when I knew I was gay,” Louis said, “and I was so ashamed and embarrassed I kept it secret for years. I feared my Ma and Da, the Church and for my career and everything else. I tried to make a go of a traditional sort of life but I was miserable. The day I came out and started to be honest with myself above anyone else was the happiest day of my life.”

“Well I haven’t always known, in fact I’m not even sure if I am gay. I only feel these things because it’s him,” Ted bristled, “I’ve never looked at another man in this way before.”

“Doesn’t make the love you feel any less important,” Louis shrugged, “have you known him long?”

Neither of them looked at each other as Ted considered his reply and whether to continue the conversation. Was it safe? He reasoned that he had asked God to bring him strength and suddenly here was a sympathetic ear to talk to. _Had_ the Lord sent him Louis Walsh to help him out of his crisis? Yes, he decided, perhaps he had. It was crazy all right but crazier coincidences had happened on Craggy Island. And if his secret was to come out at least this way he could have some control over the crisis management side of things.

“Seven years,” Ted said eventually. “I came here eight years ago, under a bit of a cloud I’m afraid. And for the first year it was me, an old priest called Father Hackett and this fella called Father Jamison who was there to recuperate after being heroically involved in a shoot-out in New York. He was the kind of priest everyone loved, people enjoyed his masses, he won every award and even the Bishop thought highly of him. But I hated him because he was everything I wasn’t and he just highlighted my own short-comings. Anyway he went away again to some great parish in Cannes and a week they sent me Dougal. He was just this little scrap of a thing, stood on the doorstep in a tank top his granny knitted for him looking scared to death. Turns out he was sent here after accidentally converting half of the pupils at Blackrock school into Satan worshippers when he got God and the Devil mixed up in his cue cards. He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t have meant it. He’s the purest, most innocent soul I’ve ever met. He'd have gotten away with that if he hadn't crashed a mini-bus full of nuns into a ditch the following week. When they asked him to if he had a licence to drive the bus he said yes. He just didn't mention it was only a provisional.'

Louis was a surprisingly good counsellor, Ted thought as he quietened and allowed a calm lull to fall between them. He felt as if he was in the confession box with a very understanding priest. The most understanding he’d ever met. A priest so understanding, in fact, that he couldn’t possibly exist.

“And when did you know you loved him?” Louis asked gently.

Ted thought a while. He hadn’t pondered this question before.

“Well, I...” he began. He hooked a finger around the bottom of his chin as if to help his thoughts to gather, “I don’t know if there was a precise moment. There have been so many times I’ve been glad he was there. The first time was when the Bishop made us protest about this film, the Passion of St Tibulus. We were standing outside the cinema like a couple of eejits and I just felt glad to have some company, you know? And there was another time when I had this forfeit to kick the Bishop up the arse. I was so scared the night before that I just felt glad he was there in bed next to me. A separate bed, as it was then, but next to me all the same. One Christmas we got lost in the women’s lingerie department at this shopping place and oh my Lord it was a task to get out of there. And I wasn’t interested in any of the lingerie, I didn’t sneak a sly glance and think about it later or anything. I just wanted to get us both out safely.”

He pondered again, sipping his tea and recalling all of the silly scrapes he and Dougal had been in over the years. Some of them raised a smile. Some of them made him irritated. Most, he realised on reflection, made his heart feel warm and comforted.

“There was this awful time, awful,“ he began again, “when he took on a milk round. It was like his first day at work. I was so proud of him I could have burst. Someone put a bomb on the float and the thought of losing him…” Ted’s voice trailed off, “I was out of my mind with the worry. And all the Church could do was send some other priests to say a Mass. That was the first time my faith felt so _useless_ , so completely _pointless_. I was ready to take that bomb for myself if it meant he’d be safe.”

Louis again said nothing, just allowing time and space for Ted’s thoughts to clear and organise themselves. Ted appreciated it. The whirring in his mind had begun to slow and he felt able to concentrate on just one thought at a time again.

“But I can’t think of when I knew I loved him,” he said. He let his thoughts turn and roll a few times. And then it came to him, “oh no wait, yes I can. I know the moment. Now as a younger priest I ever wanted was to go to America and have a glamorous parish there with all the fillum stars and the millionaires. Would you believe I finally got my chance. But it meant leaving him and the other Father and our house-keeper behind. I felt sad about it, obviously, but not sad enough to let it get in the way of my dream. I didn’t have the heart to tell them they couldn’t come so I let them believe we were all going together, like a family. And when the time came, and I was sitting on the plane, all belted up, I realised what a stupid idea it was to leave behind the people I loved. Because I do love them, in my own way. Anyway when we got home the house was empty, no furniture in it because we’d sold it all. Me and him we....well we had to sleep on the floor in our sleeping bags. He was cold and uncomfortable and kept having nightmares so we got up to make a cup of tea. Then I remembered we didn’t have a kettle and we didn't know how to make tea anyway. So we ended up sitting on the kitchen floor in our pyjamas, drinking milk from the bottle and laughing about all the silly things we’ve done. I started to feel really glad I hadn’t gone to America because I realised my life was here on Craggy Island. All the time I thought I’d been poor and downtrodden and miserable I’d actually been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I noticed he was cold, he was shivering like a mad thing in his pyjamas and his coat and his little woolly hat with the bobble on top. So I offered him my blanket and as he got wrapped up in it I realised how angelic he looked, how sweet, how he wouldn’t have survived a day without me.”

Ted paused again. Louis continued to listen, intrigued and heart-warmed by the monologue of a simple island priest. A new need to sob burned the back of his throat but this one felt good, happy and fulfilling.

“And when I say he wouldn’t survive without me I'm not trying to be big-headed,” Ted said, “because the lesson was that I realised I wouldn’t survive without him either. And that was when I knew I loved him.”

A metallic, crushing weight began to ease itself from Ted’s shoulders. He felt his muscles relax and the gnawing pain in his chest begin to fade. He flexed his hands to feel how much lighter they were. His heels had grown wings. The world around him began to brighten with colour and he blinked, as if he’d been temporarily absent from it. Louis broke his silence.

“It’s a beautiful story,” he said simply, “does he love you?”

“Ahh,” Ted smiled, relaxing back onto the pew and crossing his legs, “he says he does. And I think he means it. But he’s a bit challenged in the old brain cell department. I’m still working out if he isn’t still a little bit confused by it all.”

“Does he want to be with you every minute?”

“I can’t get rid of him. Always wanting to cuddle, always needing to be held. It’s like he can’t let me out of his sight,” Ted allowed himself a laugh, “he’s there waiting outside for me when I’m on the toilet, for God’s sake. But jokes aside there, I think he does. In the only way he knows how.”

“I’ve got to leave soon, I’ve got a meeting in the town,” Louis said, “but I want you to take my number and call me if you need to talk like this again. Ok?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ted nodded. He felt so much better for being able to air this secret, to explore his own feelings in safety and without judgement, “I’ve…really appreciated it. Thank you.”

Louis pulled a business card out of a very expensive-looking Italian leather wallet and handed it to Ted, who closed his hand around it and suddenly bellowed;

“Ahhh feck, the beds!!”


	10. The Beds

Ted drove home with the frightening urgency of a boy racer with a reputation to protect, skipping red lights and tearing up country roads, but he knew his efforts were futile. No matter how quickly he got home Mrs. Doyle will already have been into their room to make the beds. There was no escaping it. He parked the car, threw the front door open and launched himself past Mrs. Doyle and away up the stairs two at a time.

“Tea, F-“ Mrs. Doyle began, but her offer was left to drift into the whirlwind Ted left behind, ignored. She stood at the bottom of the stairs quietly, listening out for the moment he yelled ‘feck!’

“Feck!” came Ted’s reaction, as predictable as clockwork.

Mrs. Doyle put one foot on the first step, tentatively assessing her own bravery. Could she do it, like she had planned? Her foot retreated. No, not today. But soon.

“Father McGuire,” she said, walking back through the common room, “Father Crilly seemed a little upset there. You might want to go and see if everything is all right.”

Ted stood in the middle of the bedroom, his hands clasping at his hair. The two beds had been freshly made with clean sheets, their pillows plumped and pinched in the corners to ease out the wrinkles. Ted had expected this level of preciseness, this perfection, this glaring demonstration of ‘I know what you're up to!' What had him stumped, however, was that the beds were still pushed together. The nightstand was still under the window where he had left it. He had expected the beds to be angrily pulled apart, the nightstand slammed back into place, the beds aggressively stripped and dressed before the phone receiver was grasped and the Bishop’s number was punched into it, each number pressed extra hard. But no, the beds were still together. Almost invitingly. He shook the thought away. Dougal tip-toed into the room with the quiet anxiousness of a boy about to be slippered at school. He anticipated a telling off, but he didn’t know what he’d done.

“Ted?” he said softly, “is everything ok?”

“Oh Dougal,” Ted wailed, “it’s the beds!”

“What about them Ted?” Dougal frowned at the beds as if they were guilty of a heinous crime, “what did they do to you?”

“We forgot to pull them apart again,” Ted explained. He noticed that the thought hadn’t even crossed Dougal’s mind. He wanted to express his exasperation but held himself back, “and now Mrs. Doyle has made them. So she knows we pushed them together. She’ll be wondering why we’ve suddenly started doing that."

“Ahh she wouldn’t have noticed, Ted,” Dougal shrugged.

“She _has_ , Dougal,” Ted sat on the corner of his – _their_ – bed and looked at the floor. Had it not been for his talk with Louis earlier he may have gone quite mad by now, “what if she tells the Bishop? We’ll be separated!!”

“She won’t, Ted,” Dougal shrugged again and thrust his hands in his pockets, “she loves us. Well she loves me anyway. I’m not so sure about you.”

Ted wondered how Dougal could be so nonchalant. He felt the mattress dip as Dougal sat beside him and put a tentative but supportive hand on his knee. He squeezed it reassuringly and looked into Ted’s panicked eyes with his own calming azure gaze.

“Please don’t be scared Ted,” he said with a confidence Ted had never heard from him before, “it’ll be absolutely ok. We’ll go down for dinner and Mrs. Doyle won’t have noticed a thing.”

When dinnertime arrived Ted’s knees shook under the table as Mrs. Doyle served up the evening meal. It was a strange mix of beef, mash and tripe that only Mrs. Doyle could dream up and only Dougal could enjoy. Ted’s dinner, like his breakfast, remained untouched. He watched her lovingly spoon the revolting concoction onto Dougal’s plate and smile as he offered up his knife and fork. She took them and began to cut his meat into bite-size pieces like a doting mother. He realised with both bemusement and relief that Dougal was right. She did love him. If he asked her to feed him she would make aeroplane noises as she happily indulged him. Dougal has her wrapped around his little finger, Ted thought. He’s perhaps not as daft as he makes out. He decided to broach the subject about the beds by letting out a rather sudden and exaggerated laugh to catch her attention as she shook out Dougal’s napkin and tucked it into his dog collar.

“Hahahaha!” he bellowed, “you’ll never guess what, Mrs. Doyle! The thing with the beds upstairs there…it’s a funny story…yo-.”

He paused when Mrs. Doyle glanced up at him. Her eyes were still friendly, still happy to look at him. He saw no hint of anger or disgust. But there was a sadness, the down-turned mouth, the wrinkle that didn’t meet her eye when she smiled.

“You won’t believe it, now,” Ted continued, “I woke up in the night to this scratching and…and…when I looked there was a big fat squirrel right there on the bedroom floor.”

“No there wasn’t Ted,” Dougal said as he stuck a fork into his mashed potato, ready to sculpt it into Skeletor’s face.

“There _was_ , Dougal,” Ted glared at him.

“I didn’t see any squirrels,” Dougal shrugged.

“Well there was and...”

There wasn’t Ted!” Dougal looked affronted.

“DOUGAL! God almighty! Anyway you were asleep….no…yeah…that’s it….there wasn’t a squirrel….you woke up because you thought there was a squirrel and we turned the bedroom upside down looking for it but we didn’t find it because er…” Ted racked his brains, hoping his hastily made up story was half-believable. Dougal, affronted at his scolding, pouted. Ted glared again, “...Because Dougal realised he must have been having another one of his nightmares all along. But he was scared so…so…we left the beds were they were…so he could go back to sleep,”

“Right so,” Mrs. Doyle nodded. She gave no hint that she disbelieved Ted’s claims and Ted supposed that was something, “I made the beds anyway. It’s up to you two Fathers where in the room you want to put them. It wouldn’t surprise me to find a bed up there on the roof one day. You two just can’t make your minds up where you want to sleep these days. Far apart, right next to each other. I can’t keep up. Next you’ll be wanting me to put the tent up in the garden!!”

“Right!” Ted laughed, breathing an internal sigh of relief, “we’ll put them back then.”

“Right so,” Mrs. Doyle nodded, “Bishop Brennan called for you earlier Father.”

“The Bishop?” Ted gulped. All three priests sat up to attention. Even Father Jack, who had been snoozing peacefully in his chair after throwing his dinner at the wall, gave a yelp of horror. Ted dropped his fork. It bounced off the table and onto the floor. He bent to pick it up, pulled the tablecloth down with him and knocked his cup of tea into his lap. Dougal erupted into childlike glee at the spectacle and laughed as Ted wailed in pain.

“Aww feck!” Ted cursed. Mrs. Doyle offered her tea towel and he snatched irritably, pressing it against his trousers. He glared at Dougal, “it’s not funny.”

“Ahh Ted you big bollocks!” Dougal laughed.

“And stop calling me big bollocks,” he frowned. He got up to pat himself dry and performed a curious dance to cool the hot fabric, "“what have I told you about swearing at the dinner table? And front of Mrs. Doyle too?”

“Sorry Ted, you’re just such a big clumsy eejit,” Dougal giggled, “you look like you’ve wet your pants there.”

“DOUGAL!” Ted admonished, 

“I-I’m sorry Ted,” Dougal was guffawing now. He put down his own knife and fork to wipe his eyes with his sleeves.

“Yeah, very fecking sorry!” Ted snapped.

A visit from the Bishop was bad enough without Dougal laughing at his other misfortunes. He fanned desperately at his crotch. Dougal could see him contemplating the merits of tearing his trousers off and parading around the common room in his pants. The image was too much for him. He collapsed into a fit of delighted giggles and put his arm on the table, howling into his elbow like a naughty schoolboy. Ted looked to Mrs. Doyle for that knowing sympathy that can be exchanged between parents when a child is acting up. To his chagrin he found her biting her lips together, trying not to giggle, as she and Dougal exchanged impish glances.

“Don’t encourage him Mrs. Doyle,” Ted said, “he’ll only do it more. God my bollocks are on fire!!”

“Ahh you said no swearing at the table!” Dougal laughed. He let out another peel of giggles as Ted whacked at him with the tea-towel. For all his love of the downtrodden and harried priest Dougal would always be amused by Ted’s endless bad luck. Ted glared, his thin lips twisted into a disapproving expression.

“You know Dougal,” he said, “there are times when I really, really want to spank you!”

“Ahh come on Ted,” Dougal laughed, “you wouldn’t dare!”

“You want to bet I wouldn’t?” Ted challenged. He continued to fan at his crotch and couldn’t have looked less threatening. Mrs. Doyle turned away to study her tea-tray. Ted was sure he saw her shoulders quivering.

“I wouldn’t bet you, Ted,” Dougal teased, “cos everyone knows you’d cheat!”

Mrs. Doyle couldn’t contain herself any longer. She let out a snort and then a flurry of giggles. It was end for poor Ted as his curate and his housekeeper gave in to the hysteria.

“Ahh yes, old big bollocks is on fire there!” Dougal playfully pushed his luck, “he couldn’t decide what to do first - spank me or stick his balls in a bucket of ice.”

They caught each other’s gaze and Ted saw the playful innocence in his eyes he had come to adore. As Dougal laughed helplessly Ted began to laugh too. The Bishop’s visit, his painful little accident, the bed problem and his crisis of faith all forgotten as he allowed himself to be charmed by the lively sparkle in Dougal’s eyes. It was game on.

“Right, you!” Ted laughed as he made a grab for Dougal’s vest, “we’ll see.”

Dougal was too quick to be caught. He was up and off his chair before Ted had half a chance. He ran circuits around the sofa, howling with laughter, while Ted gave a futile chase in his sodden trousers. Father Jack stirred and broke into a delighted smile, watching the big eejit Ted chase the young curate around the room.

“Arse!” he bugled.

Dougal wondered if Ted ever would spank his bottom. There was a part of him that suspected he might just enjoy it. As he leapt over the sofa and began running in the opposite direction he found himself tempted to find out. He relented and allowed himself to be caught. “Ok, you got me!” he panted for breath as Ted grabbed his waist.

“You thought I was joking eh?” Ted giggled as he bent Dougal over the back of the sofa, “well I’ve got you now! You just watch me!”

He raised a playful hand which was caught mid-air by Mrs. Doyle.

“No, no, Father,” she said, “even for a good old laugh I can’t let you hurt the little one.”

Ted let go of Dougal who allowed himself to fall forward over the back of the sofa and landed deftly on the seat. He mocked Ted behind Mrs. Doyle’s back as he suffered his own telling-off for getting too hot-headed with the ‘little one.’

“I’m sorry Mrs. Doyle, I don’t know what came over me. Of course I’d never spank Father McGuire,” he glanced at Dougal, who poked his tongue out at him, “even if he does deserve it sometimes.”

“Come on you two,” Mrs Doyle encouraged, beckoning Dougal back to the table, “eat your dinner. I’ve a lovely dessert for you. Tapioca. You’ll have some won’t you, Father? Ahh go on, go on...”

Ted pulled a face of disgust at the thought of eating frogspawn while Dougal licked his lips in eager anticipation. They tucked back into their dinner while Father Jack belched and cracked open a new beer.

“That’s better,” Mrs. Doyle said as normality resumed, “now wouldn’t you like to know what the Bishop said?”

Ted swallowed nervously. Dougal poked at his mashed potato. The hilarity had been fun but the reminder of the Bishop’s visit was enough to sober them all. Tentatively, Ted ventured, “d-did he call here or…did…did you call him, Mrs. Doyle?”

“He called for you,” Mrs. Doyle said, “something about a little job he has for you and Father Byrne. He’s coming to visit next week to talk to you about it.”

“Ahh feck,” Ted said, slamming the tea-towel down, “that’s all I need, a visit from the Bishop and a job with Father Dick Byrne.”


	11. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Later on in bed that night it was Ted who found himself curled in the foetal position in Dougal’s arms as the younger priest sat up against the headboardto comfort him. It was a coveted position for Dougal whose opportunities to give rather than receive comfort had been few and far between. He could remember only two occasions. The first had been the time Ted awoke in the night screaming when he realised he’d slowly and systematically destroyed the car the diocese had given him for a raffle prize. Dougal had taken it upon himself to slap Ted to bring him around from his hysterics. The second had been Ted’s nerves the night before he kicked the Bishop up the arse. Both times Dougal had longed to hold him but fearing Ted’s reaction he hadn’t dared to reach out to him. Tonight however he had no qualms at all about folding Ted into his arms. While Ted fretted into Dougal’s football shirt the younger priest gave an internal sigh of contentment that he could finally offer his comfort.

Ted felt Dougal’s fingers slowly caressing through his hair and realised that this was the first time he’d been comforted by another person since his own mother nursed him through chicken-pox when he was six. Dougal’s soft, light strokes felt so soothing, so relaxing. His skin tingle at his touch.

“She knows, Dougal,” he said into the silence between them, “there was something in her eyes at dinner. I could tell.”

“Ahhh Ted she was the same as always…have some mashed potato Father Crilly…ah go on go on go on and all of that,” Dougal said, “have some peas Father Crilly…ah go on go on go on…have some grav-.”

“Dougal!” Ted chimed, “enough, please. And you didn’t help with all your laughing.”

“You threatened to spank me! As if Mrs. Doyle wouldn’t be suspicious about that!” Dougal laughed, “she thought it was all very funny. She wouldn’t have laughed if she was upset with us.”

“I suppose so,” Ted reasoned, “well if she didn’t call the Bishop what the hell does he want? I don’t like the sound of any job has he lined up for me. It’s bound to end in trouble. And why does Dick Bastard Byrne need to be involved?”

“It’ll be something to do with that Monopoly tournament against Rugged Island, Ted,” Dougal said, “I bet they know we took our own Monopoly money and kept subbing ourselves.”

“The Bishop wouldn’t call a meeting over Monopoly,” Ted sighed, “no, whatever he wants us to do will be terrible. He still hasn’t forgiven me for kicking him up the arse. And Byrne will turn it into a military operation make it as humiliating as possible.”

“We’ll strike their weakest link,” Dougal said confidently and swung a crooked elbow though the air, “it won’t be hard to outwit that eejit Father McDuff. Sure last time he was here he didn’t even know that Len wasn’t a real Bishop.”

“Dougal he is a real Bishop,” Ted rolled his eyes.

“Is he now? I thought he was just acting, like how you said Mel Gibson was only acting and wasn’t really Jesus at all.”

“Awgh! Christ, Dougal.”

Ted closed his eyes. For all his love and adoration of Dougal the thought of partnering with him on a professional level didn’t fill him with confidence. If past experiences were anything to go by the ‘little job’ was likely to mushroom into an incredibly complicated mission throughout which he would need to think on his feet to avoid fire, theft, flood, disaster, painful awkwardness and even more eternal damnation. He longed for peace. He wasn’t going to get it.

“I met a load of gay people in the town today Ted,” Dougal said, hoping to distract Ted from his anxieties.

Ted squeezed the bridge of his nose in despair. If Dougal meant to cheer him up by changing the subject it wasn’t working. The multitude of potential problems that could arise from this particular scenario flashed through his mind.

“Right...?” he said hesistantly, “and er...what happened?”

“They were planning a pride march on the island. To celebrate being gay and same-sex marriage and things like that,” Dougal explained, “they didn’t believe in keeping their love a secret. And I thought that was just great!!”

“You...” Ted swallowed, “you didn’t tell them about us did you, Dougal?”

“No,” Dougal said. He felt Ted breathe a sigh of relief beneath him, “but it made me think about how I wish I didn’t have to keep it a secret how much I love you. Because, well...”

He hesitated. He didn’t want to sound at all soppy like the women in the books Mrs. Doyle read. He just wasn’t sure if he’d be able to help it when the words finally came out of his mouth. Ted waited, anticipating the eventual confession of whatever silliness he’d got himself into and which Ted would now have to dig him out of. 

“Well...because I’m proud of you, Ted,” Dougal said finally.

The sweet simplicity of what Dougal had to say made Ted sit up in surprise. No-one had said they were proud of him throughout his whole adult life. And probably his childhood too, for that matter. His heart fluttered. 

“Oh Dougal..I-“ he began.

“But I know I have to keep it a secret,” Dougal continued, “because of the Bishop and the Bible and all the going to hell stuff that you’re worried about. But it doesn’t worry me, Ted. And if it wasn’t for the Bishop or the Bible or you worrying about the Bishop or the Bible I’d tell everyone that I’m proud of you. Even though you’ve got a big hairy arse, you smoke too much and you come up with the most feckin’ stupid ideas sometimes I think you’re kind and handsome and when you’re up there in that pulpit thing, talking to everyone, I want the whole world to know that I love those things about you.”

Ted was touched. He looked up at Dougal and offered a genuine, appreciative smile.

“Thank you,” he said. He reached out to stroke Dougal’s cheek and they fell into a soft, slow kiss. Ted felt Dougal’s hands squeezing supportively at his shoulders and he revelled in the feeling of being coupled and connected, the absence of loneliness. Then he bristled, “hold on what do you mean I have the most fecking stupid ideas sometimes?”

“When you start going on about the Holy Ghost and all that stuff,” Dougal explained, “especially in the Church. In front of real people, Ted. Anyone would think you believed in it.”

“Dougal, I do believe in the Holy Ghost,” Ted explained slowly, “believing in the Holy Ghost is a central part of our job.”

“Ahhh come on, Ted,” Dougal laughed, “you said yourself you didn’t believe in the Holy Ghost.”

“I did not!”

“You did!”

“I didn’t, Dougal!” Ted was exasperated, “next you’ll be telling me you recorded me saying it, and you’ll play back the recording and you’ll have got it all wrong as usual.”

“Not a sound recording,” Dougal said. He leant over and pulled a string, unfurling his chart of Things That Don’t Exist, “you made me record it on here. Look there. Ghosts.”

Ted closed his eyes. A few weeks before he’d gone to perform an unexpected last rites ritual and left Jack and Dougal alone for the evening. Jack had, as expected, become very drunk and neglectfully allowed Dougal to watch Most Haunted. After a few sleepless nights disrupted by Dougal’s nightmares Ted had found the young priest quivering in the understairs cupboard, convinced he’d heard the ghost of Freddie Mercury singing in the basement. The culprit had been a workman’s radio but Ted had been unable to convince Dougal otherwise and resolved to insisting he write ‘ghosts’ on the infamous chart.

“I meant ghosts in general, Dougal,” he sighed, “not the Holy Ghost, that’s different...it’s...”

Dougal blinked at him, the vacancy behind those eyes a yawning cavern Ted could never hope to fill.

“Ahhh forget it,” he said, defeated. He lay back down and plumped up a pillow, “anyway I don’t want you hanging around that gay crowd anymore. It doesn’t look good for the Church. You’ll get into trouble. If the Bishop is coming we need to keep our noses clean.”

“I can’t Ted, I said I’d help them with the entertainment. I said I’d put them in touch with the people who did Funland,” Dougal said, “they were really interested in the Spiderbaby.”

“The Spiderbaby doesn’t exist,” Ted reminded him, “remember how we established it was a dream you had?”

Dougal thought. Ted could hear his brain working overtime.

“Oh yes,” Dougal said finally, “but that’s ok, they still liked the idea of the Whirly-Go-Round and that flying chair you fell off of. And the tunnel of goats.”

“Right well, put them in touch and then leave the whole thing well alone,” Ted said, “and don’t be getting any ideas about going to any Pride parade. Absolutely not.”

“Aww come on Ted, please?” Dougal pleaded, “I really liked these people. I said I’d help them to set up a support group for people who are Catholic and gay at the same time.”

Ted knitted his eyebrows. 

“God almighty Dougal! The Catholic Church is absolutely clear on the matter - being gay is wrong,” he said, “you’re a priest. You can’t help people to be gay and Catholic. It’s impossible.”

Dougal smiled proudly.

“I’ve thought about this Ted,” he said, “I’ll just get a support group together and tell them that the whole Catholic thing is a big load of nonsense anyway.”

Ted closed his eyes in exasperation again. He loved Dougal but God he drove him mad sometimes. He was too tired to argue the point. He resolved himself to revisiting it later when he had less pressing matters to worry about.

“Dougal I can’t worry about this now, not with the Bishop coming. Just try not to get too involved with this Pride thing ok? I know it’s confusing because we’re Catholics and we’re...g...gay...”  
Ted swallowed hard. Saying the word out loud felt like an admission. It also felt strangely liberating, “and I’m touched that it makes you feel proud of me. Because I’m proud of you too. But we’d get into a lot bother. So it’s important we don’t draw too much attention to ourselves by getting involved in Pride events. Please just try to understand.”

Dougal looked at Ted’s harried, pensive face. He looked so hen-pecked, so in need of comfort and distraction. Perhaps some more touching might help take his mind off things. Their union last night had certainly seemed to help him. And he was so keen to start his own explorations of Ted’s body. He looked at Ted’s crotch and pondered. He didn’t know how to tell the older priest he wanted to please him. The words would feel dry and stick in his mouth like cotton wool balls. An idea came to him. He put a hand to Ted’s shoulder.

“Ted,” he said, trying to sound assertive, “you need to relax. Let me help you.”

He stood up from the bed. Ted watched him warily. It wasn’t like Dougal to be at all assertive and from past experience he could only expect a new and unmitigated disaster as a result of this sudden confidence. To his astonishment Dougal pulled his pyjamas down and bared his bottom. He lay back down again, facing away from an speechless Ted who could only gaze at the beautiful smooth white curves of Dougal’s gorgeously pert arse.

“Dougal what are you doing?” Ted asked. His tone was deadpan, almost disapproving, as if this show from the younger priest was yet another bout of naughtiness intended to wind him up. He let himself think about spanking that bottom again. His cock twitched.

“Why don’t you rub yourself up against it Ted,” Dougal said over his shoulder, “like you did last night. It might help you to chill out a bit.”

“Dougal, I-“ Ted began.

“Ahh go on, Ted,” Dougal said, “you said yourself you can’t resist me.”

He looked over his shoulder, laughed and wiggled his arse at Ted invitingly before bursting into song.

“My lovely arse   
Sitting right here on our....bed  
When are you going   
To rub yourself on it....Ted?”

“DOUGAL!” Ted admonished, but he couldn’t pretend to be shocked for long. He was both delighted and amused. For all the times he’d been infuriated with Dougal’s simplistic stupidity he reasoned he could also be very funny. He pressed his lips together, trying not to smile, as Dougal put a hand on one cheek to showcase his admittedly delicious little bottom. Ted a familiar wave of heat between his legs.

“You said yourself, it’s a lovely little arse,” Dougal teased, “and your lad fits just nice between my cheeks.”

Ted couldn’t keep it in. He laughed. Although he couldn’t see his face he could feel Dougal’s amusement too. In seconds his trousers were down and he was making a dive for the younger priest.

“C’mere then,” Ted growled as he grasped Dougal by the waist and pulled his arse towards his lad. They laughed together as he hooked his leg over Dougal’s hip and worked his cock between Dougal’s cheeks, “I just can’t say no to you!”

Dougal was still laughing as he submitted himself to the leg that pinned him to his lover. It felt good - great in fact - to be able to please Ted at last. He felt Ted’s soft lips peck at his shoulders and neck. His skin tingled in response. He could smell Ted’s aftershave and the distinct scent of his thick grey hair. He relaxed and enjoyed the the selfless act of giving himself for Ted’s ultimate pleasure. When he was done, Ted lay helplessly wrapped around Dougal, a world away from any other worries.

\----------------------------

n the room next-door, Mrs. Doyle lay in the dim lamplight and tried not to listen to the gentle sighs and happy giggles between the two Fathers. She was sure they were trying to be quiet. Father Crilly had kept hushing Father McGuire after all but however hard she tried to maintain a conservative disapproval she couldn’t help the feeling of contentedness within herself. All she ever wanted for her two boys was happiness, plenty of tea and a full belly each. If they made each other happy and she could go on filling them up with her marvellous kitchen creations it worked for all three of them. She hoped they would be discreet. She couldn’t bear the thought of the Bishop sending them to opposite corners of the world and giving her two new priests to look after. No two priests on earth could replace Fathers Crilly and McGuire. 

She resolved to make it her business to support them. And if that was against her Catholic faith then so be it. If St. Peter were to question her decision at the pearly gates of heaven she had her answer ready. Repentance and righting the wrongs of past misdeeds were also important themes in her faith and she had waited a long time for the opportunity. In the lamplight she reached for her Bible. Tucked inside was a letter, yellowed and torn now, but the address at the top was still legible. For the countless time since her arrival on Craggy Island years before she read the words that pleaded with her to understand and forgive.


	12. It's All A Little Give And Take

Ted made a point of pulling the beds apart again the next morning while Dougal showered. He ruffed up the bedding and pillows to give the impression of a night spent sleeping apart and, satisfied with his work, trotted downstairs for breakfast in a decidedly better mood than he had the day before. 

“A huge breakfast for me please, Mrs. Doyle,” he announced cheerfully. 

The housekeeper beamed as she poured his tea and handed him the morning paper. 

“Right so Father,” she said. She paused, which made Ted’s mouth dip at the sides and his shoulders tense, “Father, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Y-yes?” Ted asked nervously. 

“You know I have a sister on the mainland?” Mrs. Doyle asked. Ted’s relaxation was instantly visible.

“Mrs. Boyle!” he laughed over-enthusiastically, “yes?”

“She hasn’t been well recently. Women’s problems again, you remember I told you...”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ted held up a hand to prevent a further detailed explanation he’d rather do without.

“Well I’d like to visit her a week on Saturday,” Mrs. Doyle said, “and perhaps spend the night. If you three Fathers could manage by yourselves that is. I can make your dinner and put it in the oven. And make a few sandwiches and a big flask of tea. And some cocoa for Father McGuire to take to bed.”

“Of course, Mrs. Doyle,” Ted said accommodatingly, “I’m sure we’ll manage just fine. Oh, wait now. A week on Saturday you say? Isn’t there something already on the calendar?”

He consulted the Holy Stone calendar on the wall. 

“Oh yes, Father Jack is going to the Annual Over-75’s Priests Convention over at St. Clabbart’s that night,” he said, “and he’ll be away until Sunday. That’s even better. There’s only me and Father McGuire to wreak the place while you’re gone!!”

Mrs. Doyle stared. Ted had intended his words to be a joke but it fell between them like a brick. Both of them knew that the likelihood of he and Dougal setting the kitchen on fire, creating a flood in the bathroom or in fact causing the house to fall down was too much of a genuine risk to be funny. Ted cleared his throat.

“Y-yes well we’ll manage I suppose Mrs. Doyle,” he said, “you go. We’ll be ok.”

“Thank you Father,” Mrs. Doyle beamed. 

As she made her way to the kitchen she sent a silent prayer upwards, asking forgiveness for telling a lie. Father Crilly hasn’t seemed to suspect anything dishonest about her request and that was a blessing. 

Ted sat back down at the table and looked over at Father Jack as he snored loudly into the wing of his revolting armchair. He felt a joyous dawning of realisation. With Jack and Mrs. Doyle out for the night he and Dougal had the whole house to themselves. For one night only they could behave like any normal couple. Ted sent his own silent prayer skyward, thanking God for this divine intervention. It made for a useful compensation the night before the Bishop arrived because Ted insisted on keeping their beds apart and this did not bode well for Dougal. Ted assured him it was only for one night because the Bishop was coming in the morning and he didn’t want to take any risks. Dougal, horrified that his nightly cuddle was to be disrupted because of the formidable Len, had protested. He sat on the edge of his bed and whined at Ted for a full hour. 

When Ted remained resolute, Dougal eventually caved in and tried to sleep alone but he tossed, turned and thrashed, unable to find rest without Ted’s body for comfort. When he finally did drop off he was woken again with an erection that throbbed in his loins with such veracity he couldn’t bear the weight of the blankets on it. He pulled the covers back for relief and tried to sleep again but the distraction was too much. He leaned into the night stillness and whispered for Ted.

“Ted, Ted,” he said urgently, gripping at Ted’s blankets and tugging on them, “Ted it’s my lad...”

“Go to sleep, Dougal,” Ted had murmured, “the Bishop is coming in the morning.”

“I can’t Ted, I’ve got an election,” Dougal whispered. He licked his lips and swallowed. The next question made him bashful, nervous, “can we not have a little bit of sex? To help it go down? So I can sleep?”

“No Dougal,” Ted said sleepily, “I’ve told you I need a rest from that type of thing for a day or two. My lad is red raw from all the chaffing.”

“Please Ted,” Dougal whined, “just a little bit. It’s burning!”

“No! We need to get some sleep!” Ted sighed. He groaned as Dougal got out of his bed and padded across to Ted’s, “Dougal, we’ve been through this. You can’t sleep with me tonight. What if the Bishop came early and caught us? Remember when I kicked him up the arse and he barged the door down?”

Dougal ignored him and flipped Ted’s blankets back. He slotted in beside Ted and used his arse to bump him across the bed, creating space for them both.

“God almighty!” Ted exclaimed as he was almost winded by Dougal’s behind, “come on in, Dougal, why don’t you?”

“I just want a cuddle. I can’t sleep so good on my own anymore,” Dougal whispered as he squirmed and searched out his favourite spot on Ted’s neck to nuzzle, “just a little cuddle, Ted. For five minutes. Please.”

How could Ted refuse a pleading Dougal? In the half-light he looked so lost, awoken from a fitful dream with his hair sticking up on end. Ted relented and opened his arm out for him. Dougal tucked himself into it. Ted had to admit it felt good to have Dougal’s warmth next to him and to breathe in the scent of his loveliness. He gave a contented sigh and closed his eyes again, willing a good night’s sleep to keep his mind sharp for tomorrow’s audience with Craggy Island’s very own pope.

Dougal tried to get comfortable but the heavy fire in between his legs bothered him. He shifted and squirmed, trying to find relief from the burn which distracted his every thought. His wriggles disturbed Ted who found himself pummelled by various limbs and head butted in the chin.

“Be still, sweetheart,” Ted murmured. He folded Dougal into a tighter embrace in the hope it would get him to sleep. A cuddle was usually enough to settle him but not tonight.

“I can’t Ted. My lad is rock hard!” Dougal said. He made a discomforted noise and whispered urgently, “it’s so hard it’s starting to hurt, Ted!”

“What do you mean it’s starting to hurt?” Ted asked. 

“It won’t go away!” Dougal whined. 

Ted looked down at Dougal’s desperate face. His eyes, huge and innocent, were watery and his bottom lip was swollen and glinting with each breath. His hands gripped hopelessly at the front of his pyjamas in search of relief. 

“It shouldn’t hurt you Dougal. It should feel good,” he said, “can I see?”

Dougal flipped the blankets back again and lay flat as he pulled down his pyjama bottoms, freeing his rigid, aching cock. Ted shifted onto his elbow and blinked. Even in the half-light he could see how hard he was, the pre-come glistening down the full length. Ted he could almost see it throbbing.

“God almighty!” Ted exclaimed. 

He knew himself how such erections felt. They had the potential to turn into nasty blue-ballers if not dealt with quickly. With the way Dougal gasped and squirmed he wondered if that painful process hadn’t already begun. He couldn’t bear the thought of Dougal suffering but there was no medical emergency, just the urgent need of a young man getting to grips with his newly-discovered sexuality.

“Well there’s nothing wrong, Dougal, you’ve just got a massive erection, that’s all,” he concluded, “the way you were going on there I thought it was about to drop off!”

“I can’t sleep with my lad sticking up like this,” Dougal frowned. He looked at Ted pleadingly, “will you touch me Ted?”

Ted sighed. The ever-present shadow of his responsibilities lay heavy on his mind and the need for them to sleep was essential if they were to survive the Bishop’s visit. But there was nothing he wanted more than to lock their bedroom door on the rest of the world and stay with Dougal in these private, tender moments forever. Ted wanted to touch him all the time.

“Were you having a naughty dream or something?” Ted swallowed as he slipped a soothing hand beneath Dougal’s balls and cupped them gently. He felt their weight, the wiry public hair but mostly burning heat that came off them.

“I was dreaming of us,” Dougal whispered, “we were having sex in the shed. You were wearing your Elvis outfit.”

Ted gave Dougal’s balls a few tender, understanding strokes. He thought about sending Dougal into the bathroom to sort himself out but the young priest had always shied away from any sort of self-pleasure. The old wives' tales and Catholic doctrine was still held firm within him in that regard. If Dougal was ever to come it would be with Ted’s assistance and if Ted didn’t help him now he would lie there all night, uncomfortably hard and throbbing. And then the Bishop’s visit would be even more of a nightmare with a tired, grumpy, sexually frustrated Dougal to contend with. Dougal had once been something of an asexual creature but since their first union he’d developed an undeniably insatiable appetite. Ted was coming to learn that without frequent sexual relief Dougal could be quite the handful. That wouldn’t do in front of the Bishop.

“Please Ted,” Dougal’s begging whisper made Ted shiver, “touch me, in that way that you do.”

Ted gave a wry smile. Giving in to him yet again he bent to kiss Dougal’s lips softly and stroked his hair out of his eyes. 

“How is it that I can’t say no to you?” he whispered. 

Excitedly, Dougal made to turn over and present his arse for Ted’s pleasure. It was a position he’d come to feel very comfortable with. He made his requests for sex by simply baring his bottom towards Ted and inviting his cock to catch between his cheeks. It was less subtle but somehow less embarrassing than using words to tell Ted he wanted his attentions. He pressed his arse towards Ted’s cock, inviting him to take his pleasure. Ted put a hand on his arm. 

“No sweetheart,” he said, “not for me. I’m so sore! You’ve been wearing me out! But I’ll help you. Of course I’ll help you.”

Dougal lay back down and took a deep breath as Ted got out of bed and knelt on the floor beside him. He helped Dougal to remove his pants and pyjama bottoms and cleared his throat as Dougal made to take his football shirt off. 

“You don’t have to get completely undressed,” Ted whispered, “it’s only a hand job.”

“But I want to,” Dougal said, “I like it when we’re...you know...in the nip...for this kind of thing. I feel more free.”

“Ok,” Ted relented. Dougal’s hands moved to take off his own jersey, “oh, me too?”

“I want to see you, Ted,” Dougal whispered. 

Ted couldn’t believe himself as he slipped out of his pyjama top. Kneeling semi-naked before an alarmingly erect Dougal just hours before the Bishop’s arrival. What in God’s name was he doing? But he couldn’t help it, he enjoyed his pleasures too much to worry about the risk now. He left his trousers on, his cock still yet to be introduced to Dougal’s acquaintance. Dougal ran a tender hand over his pectoral muscles, his eyes blinking in the dim light, and Ted weakened. Something within him fluttered. He felt...what was the word?...admired. Desired.

He leaned forward to kiss Dougal gently on the mouth. They exchanged a few tender, sensual kisses and pecks until Ted licked his lips with a hungry neediness. Dougal’s mouth fell open and they searched for each other’s tongues. Naked now, Dougal felt hot against the chilly early morning as Ted’s warm hand took his cock with an experienced grasp. He gave a helpless yelp as the pressure made the burning sensation almost overwhelming.

“Shh,” Ted whispered, “it’s ok. Just relax.”

Dougal let his thighs fall open and his hips widen as Ted began to work him into a rhythm. He felt his face flush as he closed his eyes. Ted’s hand was gentle but firm and by now he’d learned exactly the right pace for Dougal’s pleasure. Ted looked down at the beauty beneath him - Dougal with his legs parted, his lad and balls offered upwards into Ted’s grasp, his creamy white skin glowing in the pre-dawn haze, his mouth open and his bottom lip glistening with every cry and groan. He listened to the younger priest give a few little gasps of pleasure. This, Ted deduced, was mercifully not going to take long. 

“Mmm...Ted!” Dougal’s face screwed into an expression of pain as the pleasure built. He squirmed and arched his back, “ahh...”

“Shh, darling,” Ted soothed. He felt the silken throbbing of Dougal’s cock in his palm and teased the ridge of his head with every stroke, “try not to cry out so much.”

Dougal whined in response. His body tensed again, the pleasure so overwhelming now that he wanted to shy from Ted’s touch and move further into it in equal measure. He tried to moan quietly but the sounds came from a part of him he was still learning to control.

“Ahh!”

“Shh!” Ted whispered. His own cock was rigid now and it was beginning to throb. He’d have to go to the bathroom as soon as Dougal was seen to.

Dougal’s body twisted again. His laboured breathing became heavy panting. He grabbed Ted’s head and the older priest knew then that his orgasm wasn’t far. He prepared himself for the discomfort of Dougal’s hands grasping wildly at his hair as he came. 

“Ohhh...” Dougal groaned. It was louder than a whisper but not quite a cry. It sent a shock wave directly to Ted’s cock which twitched in keen response. Dougal moaned again, arching his back towards Ted’s touch, as another low but deliciously helpless moan escaped him. He looked and sounded so beautiful, so utterly sensual. He sat up towards Ted and grabbed a handful of hair, riding the crest of a powerful orgasm. Come drizzled from his cock as Ted eased his pace a little. Dougal’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure. And then he was done. Quivering he settled back down onto Ted’s pillow. Ted allowed himself to flop onto Dougal’s chest and there they had stayed for the rest of the night.


	13. The Bishop and Byrne

Despite Ted’s best efforts, however, Dougal had still awoken feeling tired. Both priests were unused to rising before 11am so their 8am alarm was traumatic for them both. Ted was too anxious to laze about. He got up and nagged at Dougal to do the same. Dougal turned away and buried his head beneath the pillow. 

The younger priest had been quite the challenge to coax out of bed and when he eventually extracted himself he did so in a grumpy mood. A mood not helped by Mrs. Doyle’s frantic mothering which began as soon as he opened the bedroom door and found her standing there with an armful of clean laundry.

“Freshly ironed shirts and trousers for you, Fathers,” she announced, dropping a pile of ironing into his arms, “and you’re to get a bath today, Father McGuire.”

“I don’t want a bath!” Dougal frowned, “a shower will do, it’s only the Bishop who’s coming. It’s not like it’s Jeremy Clarkson or someone really important.”

“Bath,” Mrs. Doyle told him firmly.

Insisting he have a proper wash she marched him to the bathroom where the bath was already drawn. 

“You’ve not already bathed Jack in that, have you?” he asked, eyeing the water warily. 

“On my own?” Mrs. Doyle asked, “I might be Wonder Woman Father but there is a limit. In you get. Go on, go on.”

She scrubbed the young priest until his skin was red, washed his hair and shaved the few wisps of fluff above his top lip. She had refused to allow him to squirm away as she dressed him and dried his hair into a choirboy style combover he particularly hated. When she came at him with a Q-Tip he’d thrown a tantrum and begged to be left alone. He took his seat in the common room downstairs looking and smelling positively angelic, save for the folded arms and brooding sulk.

Throughout breakfast she had fussed about triangular sandwiches and created a loud clatter as she brought out the best china. Dougal has squeezed his eyes shut, irritated at the noise, while Ted drove him mad with his pacing up and down the room, a nervous wreck of anxiety-fuelled smoking and catastrophising. Dougal had watched him, bemused and irritated, by the chaos that disrupted their home every time the Bishop made an appearance. He was sick and tired of it.

Ted had been trusted to bathe himself but he soon found himself forced to sit on a chair on a sheet in the kitchen and submit to a trim of his thick grey hair. Despite insisting his hair was fine there was no placating Mrs. Doyle until she had given his short back and sides a fierce update with the meat scissors. He’d pulled a face as the housekeeper spat on a napkin to mop up a blob of stray shaving foam and submitted to his own Q-Tip experience before he was declared him fit for his audience with the Bishop.

Jack had been her third and final tackle. She had donned a face-shield and gloves as she soaked a cloth in soapy water and attacked his face with it. He’d flailed, kicking out with his arms and legs and giving several muffled bouts of expletives, as she scrubbed his dinner out of his two-day shaving shadow. With his hair then neatly combed he was so clean and tidy he looked almost ridiculous by the time she had finished. 

By mid-morning all three priests found themselves dressed in their best shirts and trousers as they nervously anticipated the Bishop’s arrival. They sat in the common room sharing a pregnant silence; the only sound between them was the carriage clock ticking on the mantelpiece. Ted and Dougal kept glancing at each other, acknowledging the trauma that had already passed between them that morning. Now they waited like mischievous children under strict orders not to mess up their Sunday best just before a wedding. Dougal was tired and fed up already. Having his comic confiscated had been the final straw. He sat on the sofa with his arms folded, sulking.

“You all look very nice, Fathers,” Mrs. Doyle told them as she came out of the kitchen carrying a mountain of sandwiches. She seemed to swell with pride under her best blouse, her hair freshly curled and an alarming slick of lipstick bleeding onto her teeth, “have you all swapped your slippers for the shoes I’ve polished?”

Ted had. His feet ached inside his uncomfortably new shoes so well polished he could see his own face in them. Mrs. Doyle had already changed Jack’s shoes for him and suffered a kick in the chin for her efforts. Dougal however was still wearing his Batman slippers. His frown deepened as everyone turned looked at his feet. He hid them under the sofa.

“No way. I’m not taking my slippers off just because Len is coming,” he said, and tightened his folded arms. 

“Dougal you can’t see the Bishop in your slippers,” Ted said calmly, “and please remember not to call him Len.”

“No,” Dougal pouted, “this is my house and I’ll wear my slippers while I’m in it.”

“Dougal please,” Ted’s voice was soft, encouraging, “do it for Mrs. Doyle then. She’s worked hard to make the house and all of us look our best. Let’s not spoil it over slippers.” 

He hooked a gentle finger around Dougal’s elbow. Despite his efforts to keep it discreet, Mrs. Doyle saw the tender way he stroked Dougal and appealed to the younger priest’s kinder nature. She saw a silent word pass between them, a glance that appealed for and granted compromise between a couple hopelessly in love. 

“Oh all right,” Dougal relented. He took his slippers into the hall and returned with his freshly polished shoes. He stepped into them, sat down and put his feet on Ted’s lap, “but if I can’t wear my Velcro shoes you’ll have to tie my laces.”

Ted obliged quietly. Mrs. Doyle handed Jack a sippy-cup of Guinness. It was just enough to take the edge of his craving but not enough to send him into a drunken stupor. A car door clattered outside. Mrs. Doyle rushed to the window. 

“They’re here!” she cried. 

“They?” Ted asked. 

“He has Father Byrne and Father McDuff with him,” Mrs. Doyle announced, “I’ll get the door.”

“Byrne? Aww feck’s sake,” Ted cursed. He lifted Dougal’s feet off his lap, “stand up to greet His Grace and don’t...call...him...Len.”

The parochial house seemed to sigh as the Bishop swept into it, bringing with him an air of terrifying authority. Ted and Dougal stood as the Bishop emerged into the lounge, clouded in his black cape and trailed by Father Byrne and Father McDuff like a couple of bridesmaids fussing over a bride. 

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Mrs. Doyle performed a nervous curtesy, “and Fathers Byrne and McDuff. It’s just wonderful to see you.”

She took their coats as Ted fingered his chin and then tossed his head back in an overly enthusiastic display of delighted surprise, as if he hadn’t expected the Bishop at all. 

“Len!” he chimed. He immediately closed his eyes. For all his coaching of Dougal he had left the word there on the tip of his own tongue, just waiting to be served to the Bishop. When he opened them Bishop Brennan’s infurtiated face was inches from his own. The Bishop stared glassily into Ted’s eyes, purposefully holding his gaze for maximum discomfort. Ted shook, unsure if the Bishop was about to shout, pin him up against the wall or rip off his arms.

“Don’t take the piss today Crilly,” the Bishop said in a cool tone that was somehow more terrifying than if he had shouted, “you and the little bollocks will address me as Your Grace. Just one wrong move - just more one little slip of the tongue - and the pair of you won’t know two ways from Sunday!”

He turned to Dougal who was standing with his hands clasped, giving the stink-eye to Father McDuff who was shaking with silent giggles at Ted’s telling-off.

“Have you got that, you little cabbage?” he barked. 

Dougal bowed his head.

“Yes,” he nodded, and with a great strain of effort, “I have, Your Grace.”

Ted breathed a sigh of relief. The Bishop stood before Dougal and gave him a critical once-over. Dougal pitched his gaze at the Bishop’s dog collar and tried not to look as scared as he felt as he nervously tugged at the hem of his vest.

“Yes,” Bishop Brennan said in conclusion, “after 8 years in my diocese he finally learns how to address a Bishop appropriately. However he remains about as much use as a priest as a firework display in a library.”

Ted looked over at Dick Byrne. His infuriatingly chiseled looks, that pointed chin, the general air of sophistication he carried with him. God he positively hated Dick Byrne.

“Good morning Ted!” Dick said brightly.

“Dick, Cyril,” Ted said without feeling, “the tea please, Mrs. Doyle.”

“Cyril and I were delighted when his Grace suggested an inter-parish meeting. We were keen to catch up with you and Father Dougal. We haven’t seen you since the Over-75’s football championship,” Dick proffered a wide smile, “which you cheated at, of course.”

“So did we,” Cyril piped up, “that Italian fella wasn’t a real priest.”

“Shut up Cyril,” Dick gave him a side-glance.

“Ted did his forfeit though!” Dougal fired back. He hated Cyril as much as Ted hated Dick and wasn’t pleased to have him in the house. He noticed Cyril was already eyeing up the Star Wars toys on mantelpiece. He stood in front of them defensively. 

“What forfeit?” the Bishop snapped.

“Shut up Dougal,” Ted hissed, “ahh it was nothing Your Grace, just a little misunderstanding over the old off-side rule. We er...we cleared it up.”

Dick smirked and mimicked a kicking action while the Bishop’s back was turned. Cyril flicked the V with both hands and made them dance and they both revelled in Ted’s discomfort. Ted looked at Cyril with the heavy-lidded gaze an old bloodhound would deserve for a young puppy. 

“Take a seat,” Ted said coolly, “so er...did you all come together?”

They all sat down. Ted in his armchair, the Bishop, Dick and Cyril on the sofa. Dougal sat on a stool in front of the fire and made sure his head hid his toys from Cyril’s roving eyes.

“I spent the night at the Rugged Island parochial house last night,” the Bishop said as he arranged his cloak, “I thought there would far less risk of being rudely assaulted there. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you kicking me up the arse, Crilly.”

Dick and Cyril snorted in unison. The Bishop glared them into silence. Mrs. Doyle broke the awkwardness by rattling in with the tea tray. After the ritual of refusing and serving tea anyway had passed, the Bishop got down to business. 

“This is not a social call, Crilly,” he said, clearing his throat with an alarmingly loud cough which commanded attention, “so I’ll get to the point. It has come to my attention that a couple of...gay pride...events have been planned for Craggy and Rugged Islands.”

He over-pronounced the words ‘gay’ and ‘pride’ as if they were foreign to him and gave a shudder of disgust. Dick pulled a sycophantically revolted expression. Cyril looked set to say something but was silenced by a nudge from Dick.

“Right,” Ted nodded, expressing his interest and inviting the Bishop to continue. 

“As priests,” the Bishop began again. He glanced at Dougal doubtfully, “or at least people dressed as priests in any case, you will all be aware of the Church’s perspective on homosexuality and any kind of festival which promotes it.”

“Abomination,” Dick announced, “it’s an abomination, Your Grace.”

“That it is, Byrne. They’re all the rage in the mainland now. Big flamboyant parties with men actually kissing each other in the street and women holding hands. All shouting about free love and dancing about like Las Vegas showgirls and all this bollocks. It’s a disgrace! An insult to the teachings of scripture and to and the good faith itself.”

It was not lost on him that Dick and Cyril were shaking their heads and booing while Ted and Dougal looked glum. The little bollocks especially. 

“These tiny island communities, Crilly, are something of an enigma,” he went on, “they’re so backward and out of touch with the rest of so-called modern society that this pride parade disease has yet to get established over here. It has become such a concern that his Grace the Archbishop has taken a keen interest in how it is handled. So, in light of the news that parades have been planned in your backwards little parishes and I have the Archbishop breathing down my neck, what might your tasks be, do you think?”

Dick Byrne actually raised his hand, as if the common room was a schoolroom and the Bishop a revered teacher. Ted felt his stomach respond to the sight with a growl of nausea. The Bishop gave a slight nod of his head, granting Dick permission to speak. 

“We need to make the Church’s position very clear,” Dick said, sounding ever more like the class nerd fishing for brownie points, “and protest the events.”

Bishop Brennan raised the corner of his mouth in the best imitation of a satisfied smile he could muster and inclined his head in agreement. 

“That’s right,” he said. He leant forward to Ted, “now we all know what happened in this parish last time you protested an immoral event, don’t we, Crilly?”

Ted pursed his lips. The Passion of St. Tibulus hasn’t been his defining moment of priestly success on Craggy Island. He fumbled for an answer. Dougal, angry that Ted was always the one to be picked on, decided to help him out.

“Yeah you left your holiday tape here,” he said. He was sitting with his elbows in his knees, cupping his face in his hands. He gave the Bishop a casual but challenging shrug. Ted realised with astonishment that Dougal for once hadn’t unintentionally put his foot in it. He knew exactly what he had said, and he meant to say it.

The Bishop glared. The little cabbage had always been a wet, nervy little thing, scared of his own shadow and a delight to terrify. He didn’t recognise and didn’t like this new swarthy attitude. He felt a creeping suspicion that he no longer wielded the same terror over him. 

“Just what have you been doing with this...this little gobshite Crilly?” he asked Ted, “now, I know he always been a prize liability to the priesthood and you’re not my first choice of people to mentor him, God knows, you’re about the worst pastor I can think of for him. You two are a disastrous combination in fact. But beggars can’t be choosers at the bottom of the priest bargain bin. Even so Crilly, I thought you might have taught him something about how to present himself before his betters by now.”

“He taught me not to call you Len,” Dougal said.

“When did he become so insolent?” the Bishops raged. 

“Shut up, Dougal!” Ted hissed, “I’m sorry Your Grace. I don’t know what’s got into you, Father McGuire. I can assure you, Your Grace, I’ve been trying to mentor him. I have him reciting the Catechism daily, he does an hour of Bible study every morning and there are punishments for his wrong-doings.”

“Punishments? Now we’re talking,” the Bishop sat back on the sofa, interested. 

Ted found himself falling down another rabbit hole of lies. He prayed Dougal would keep his mouth shut, just this once.

“Well I take his Lego off him for a start,” he began, “and sometimes he’s banned from the record player. And those Roddy Doyle books? On the fire, Your Grace.”

“Lego,” the Bishop said, unimpressed. 

“And penitence!” Ted squeaked, “daily penitence.”

“You know, Crilly, I’ve often thought Father McGuire would fare better under the guidance of Father Byrne. Father McDuff has come on in leaps and bounds. He’s almost ready to start saying his own Mass.”

Cyril beamed and Dick gave him a proud wink. Ted let out a whinny of horror. He could guess what was coming next.

“Perhaps we’ll have the two curates swap places. Father McGuire might have half a chance at actually learning something about religion.”

“Oh no,” Ted squeaked. He cleared his throat, “I mean, that wouldn’t work at all. You see Father McGuire hates it here. He’s always complaining to me about how tough I am on him. It’s his dream to go to Rugged Island. I mean, he loves Dick!”

Father Jack snorted and chuckled to himself. He loves dick, alright, he thought, but he kept this reflection to himself. Dick and Cyril cast astonished glances at each other. 

“He thinks Father Byrne is just the greatest and...” Ted went on. 

“Ted I think Dick’s an eejit!” Dougal whispered urgently.

“Shut up Dougal and I think if we gave in too soon he might lose motivation and progress,” Ted blurbled, “no, Your Grace, he’s much better here with me where he can prove more of his penitence for the Blackrock Incident. Isn’t that right, Dougal? More of the old penitence so!”

“More what Ted?” Dougal asked. His face creased into an expression of complete bewilderment, “is that a mad French cheese?”

“Right that’s it,” Ted shouted. Dougal jumped, “that’s quite enough of your tongue today, Father Dougal McGuire. Outside with you.”

“What?” Dougal blinked. 

“Penitence. Go and stand in the shed,” Ted pulled him up by the vest, “time for some more quiet contemplation.”

He grabbed Dougal’s vest and marched him out of earshot into the kitchen. 

“Ted what are you doing? I’m not going in the shed!” Dougal hissed and folded his arms, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Dougal,” Ted whispered, “what is wrong with you today? You’ve been in a foul mood all morning. Did you hear what he just said? He wants you to curate under Byrne!!”

“No way, Ted,” Dougal shook his head fiercely, “I’m not going. I’ll leave the priesthood first.”

“If he thinks you actually like it here on Craggy Island he’ll definitely send you away. You know what a bastard he is. We have to make him think you hate it and you hate me so he’ll keep you here! Listen, play along.”

“Into the shed, Father McGuire,” Ted boomed so his voice could be overhead. He took Dougal’s hands and squeezed them apologetically, “and after that you can mow the lawn with your nail scissors. And paint all that coal white.”

Dougal was confused. Ted didn’t have the twenty minutes it would take to explain. He pulled Dougal to him and hugged him reassuringly.

“Say ‘oh no not the shed again!’” Ted whispered into his ear. He sneaked a nibble at his neck, “make it sound like you hate me.”

“Oh no, Ted, not the shed!” Dougal called out. He grinned at Ted mischievously as he followed it up with, “I hate you Ted, you big bollocks!”

Ted glared as Dougal stifled a giggle. It was the first smile Ted seen him break all day and it warmed his heart. He gave a silent chuckle of his own.

“I got to call you big bollocks in front of the Bishop,” Dougal giggled in a whisper, “Cyril will be blown away!”

“THE SHED!” Ted bellowed. 

They held hands in silence for a minute, waiting. When it was clear the Bishop wasn’t about to break down the kitchen door Ted patted Dougal in the direction of the garden.

“Right, that’s you off the hook,” Ted whispered, “you can go and play football in the garden until I get rid of them, ok?”

Dougal remained confused but didn’t need to be asked twice to escape the Bishop. He grabbed his football. 

“Bye then!”

“Kids!” Ted said, opening his forearms in a exasperated expression as he returned to the lounge, “not that I’d know. What it’s like to have kids, I mean. I...”

He caught the Bishop’s eye and closed his mouth. Best not to talk about having kids in front of old Bishop Brennan, who was well-versed in that particular experience.

“Ever since I’ve been working on his theological knowledge he positively hates me,” Ted laughed as he sat down, “hates me with a passion. He’s quite a handful. He shouts and swears at me. Bopped me on the head with the incense last week. Once I caught him putting nettles in my slippers. You wouldn’t want that kind of thing, Father Byrne, oh no.”

The Bishop looked suitably unimpressed. Dick and Cyril looked at each other. 

“Perhaps not,” Dick said, “Father McDuff has been doing so well I fear we risk his progress putting him under Crilly.”

“Hmm yes,” the Bishop appraised Ted with an air of disapproval, “perhaps you’re right. So as I was saying. We must be seen to be discouraging these gay pride events to preserve the more...traditional...nature of these little islands. And you, Crilly, are in a position where you have to demonstrate to me that things have improved since the last protest job I put you up to.”

“Yes, Your Grace, no problem at all, Your Grace,” Ted chuckled. 

“Not quite, Crilly. There would a problem if, as a result of your efforts, an event the size of the Mardi Gra overtook Craggy Island. There would be very big problem indeed,” the Bishop mused, “and I wouldn’t put it past you to be successful in that endeavour.”

“Oh that won’t happen again, Your Grace,” Ted said. 

“It had better not. Because, you see, there’s a parish in Serejavo needing a new pastor,” the Bishop gave his first genuine smile, “and I have to send one of you two pastors out to fill it.”

“What?” Ted and Dick chimed together.

“The Diocese has decided it has looked after your sorry arses for long enough and belts need to be tightened,” the Bishop announced, “so Craggy and Rugged Islands will be merging as one next year and one of you two lucky winners will get the grand prize of taking over both. The loser gets Serejavo, where I’m told it’s bitterly cold in the winter. And the Spring. And the Summer too as it happens.”

Ted’s heart felt like an inflating balloon of panic. Serejavo! The location he didn’t mind so much. But what about Dougal?

“Will a curate be needed?” he asked, surprised at the shake in his voice. He cleared his throat and looked at the Bishop hopefully.

“No we’ll keep the two curates here to help with the extra workload,” the Bishop explained, “though what use these two clowns will be to you I don’t know. And nor do I care. I just want this thing sorting so the Archbishop focuses his attentions elsewhere. So my plan is this. As I know what good sports you and Father Byrne are for a healthy competition I’ve decided to leave it to you two to decide between yourselves who takes the ladder to a promotion and who takes the snake to a really shit parish,” the Bishop laughed delightly at Ted’s horror, “the man who most successfully quietens any gay pride noise in their parish proves their worth to the Archbishop as the ideal candidate to remain. The man who fecks up packs his bags. Comprende?”

“Yeah,” Cyril snickered, “everyone knows you like a good competition. Crilly always cheats though, eh, Dick?”

“Always,” Dick nodded. 

“It was a great forfeit last time he cheated though,” he gushed, “kicking His Grace up the arse. Well that was great.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Doyle sat on the stairs. She knew eavesdropping was a terrible sin but reasoned with herself that even middle aged women with a thirst for gossip had their vices. She glanced at the crucifix on the wall.

“Oh I know, I know,” she whispered to it, “earwiggers never hear good news. Well that much is true.”

Her heart was a tight sailor’s knot in her chest as she listened to the Bishop lay out his plan to pit Father Crilly and Father Byrne against each other to quell the island pride parades. Mrs. Doyle didn’t know much about the daily politics of managing a diocese but she knew two things about this situation that did not sit well.

The first was that the two Fathers she held dear to her heart would struggle with themselves as they protested against their own kind of love. How hypocritical and torn their hearts would feel! And forced to do it not because of the faith but because Bishop Brennan wanted the almighty Archbishop off his case. 

The second was that no matter how hard Father Crilly tried he would fail against Father Byrne who somehow managed to defeat him in every contest with a borrowed mask of grace and poise that hid his inner evils. Father Crilly might as well pack his bags and leave for Serejavo now. 

And what about poor Father McGuire? How on earth would he cope without his friend, mentor and lover? Father Crilly was everything to the boy. He survived in the world only because Father Crilly knew exactly how to circumnavigate his foibles. The young priest’s heart would break. She couldn’t bear the thought. 

She thought of the letter upstairs in her Bible and how the words, long since starting to fade on the yellowing paper, had once begged her to see life from other perspectives and to stand up for what she truly loved. Mrs. Doyle had failed in that endeavour once. This was her chance to put right a wrong. She would not fail again. 

She stood up from the step and up for what her heart held dear. Turning her back on the Bishop’s voice she made her way upstairs and into the priest’s shared bedroom. 

As quietly as she could she plucked the nightstand from between the beds and set it under the window. With surprising dexterity for a woman of her age she pushed the two beds together and stripped them of their single bedsheets.


	14. Mrs. Doyle's Confession

Cyril was as stunned as Dougal to find himself banished to the shed for penitence purposes. From the outraged expression on the Bishop’s face however he was glad to have a reason to flee. 

“It’s to make it look to Ted like I’m telling you off,” Dick told him in the kitchen, “but well done for bringing up the arse-kicking incident again. A healthy reminder for the old Bishop there. He’ll be pulling Ted over the coals about it as we speak! Here’s a fag and 50p for your trouble. Now go see what gossip you can get out of Dougal. And remember not to tell him there isn’t a pride on Rugged Island or about the Bishop’s promotion.”

Cyril grinned as he pocketed the cash. He loved Dick, idolised him in fact. He swung outside and put the cigarette to his lips. Flicking a lighter at it he spotted Dougal kicking a football against the wall of the house. 

Dougal was freezing cold but his shiny best shoes were covered in mud, which pleased him. Serves them right for making him take his slippers off, he thought as he pelted the wall with a ball that flew fast on the end of angry frustrated kicks. He didn’t give a shite about Bishop Len Brennan, the Church or the Bible. He was angry that the Bishop picked on Ted all time. More than that he was furious that the Bishop wanted to stop the pride parade. How could it be Christian to make people feel bad for loving each other? What happened to love thy neighbour? For all his genuine attempts to understand the Biblical perspectives on the moral debate he just couldn’t see how loving a man could ever be wrong when his own experience was so beautiful his heart felt like it would outgrow his body. How he longed to shout to the world about his love for Ted and to have the joy of loving him freely with secrets or shame. Why in God’s name was he even a priest anyway?

He spotted Cyril walking towards him. 

“You’re not to play with my ball,” he said, giving Cyril what he hoped was a menacing look but which came out as a wide-eyed stare, “Ted said never to let another priest play with my balls.”

“Not interested,” Cyril said as he leant against the wall and blew a plume of smoke into the cold air, “your Ted’s an awful eejit isn’t he? God almighty. He won’t win the pride competition.”

“What competition?” Dougal asked.

“They are merging Craggy and Rugged Islands into one parish,” Cyril said, “and there’s a priest needed in San Diego or some Godforsaken place. Whichever priest heads the best pride protest gets to stay. Whoever makes a balls of it goes.”

Dougal felt his heart beating in his throat. His body ran cold with shock.

“Say your goodbyes to Dick then,” he said simply. 

“Nah,” Cyril shook his head, “we’re going to win.”

“No you won’t.”

“We will.”

“You won’t.”

“We will.”

“Won’t.”

“Will!”

“Wont!”

“Will times a million!” Cyril hunched his shoulders conspirationally, “I know because there isn’t even going to be a pride parade on Rugged Island.”

“What?” Dougal exclaimed.

“The Bishop’s having you on. The gay crowd came to look around. They decided it was too much of a shitty place so they’re only coming to Craggy Island. The Bishop’s organised a few friends to get together and make a pretend parade on Rugged, just a few people with a few signs and that, nothing special. We’re going to stage a protest and shut it down in front of the Archbishop. Plenty of good press for the Rugged Island parish, see where I’m going? Which means however hard you try, we win.”

“That’s a set up!” Dougal frowned. 

“The Bishop is in the running to be the next Archbishop,” Cyril grinned, “he told us last night. He wants to use Rugged Island as an example of what a good job he’s done. Of course he doesn’t want any real parades ruining his chances of promotion. He’s put a rocket up Ted’s arse to try and quieten down the whole gay thing here and because he knows he’ll mess up. When Brennan becomes Archbishop he’ll get his own back and give Ted a massive kick up his own arse by booting him off to some shite parish. God he’s always wanted rid of him and now’s his chance. Like it or not, Dougal, we’ll be working together. Remember I’ve Dick’s curate for longer so I’m the boss, all right?”

——————————————

When the Bishop, Dick and Cyril left, Dougal was waved back into the house by a horrified Mrs. Doyle who wrapped him in a warm blanket and plied him with hot, sweet tea to warm him through. She sat him by the aga in the kitchen as Ted laced up and down in a fit of blind panic.

“Fancy putting him outside Father Crilly!” she chided Ted as she rubbed Dougal’s arms. 

“I had to,” Ted said, “the Bishop was blathering about swapping him with Father McDuff. Can you imagine that? And the stuff coming out of your mouth today Dougal! Did you want to wind the Bishop up or something?”

“I don’t like him Ted,” Dougal shivered, “I don’t like how he bullies us. Especially he’s guilty of his own sins. Anyway I didn’t call him Len and I didn’t mention the son. Well not in so many words.”

“Do you think I like him?” Ted asked, leaning over Dougal, “do you think I like pandering to him? But I have to if I want to keep us four together. And oh God this Serejavo thing...we need a brilliant plan to stop the Pride event. And we all know what Dick bastard Byrne is like for coming up smelling of roses. God almighty what am I going to do?”

He ran his fingers through his thick grey hair in despair. Mrs. Doyle put a comforting hand on his elbow. 

“Ahh Father Crilly you’ll think of something,” she said brightly, though her lack of faith in her own words hung in the air like a tangible force, “we’ll all think of something to make sure you win. Won’t we, Father McGuire?”

“It’s a set-up,” Dougal said simply.

“What?” Ted spun around. 

“Cyril told me outside,” Dougal explained, “he said there was no Pride on Rugged Island because it’s shite. The Bishop’s got a few of his mates involved to stage a Pride so Dick can shut it down and look great. Then the Bishop gets promoted to Archbishop and he can merge the two parishes and get rid of you. There’s no way you can win.”

“What?!” Ted and Mrs. Doyle chorused together. 

“It’s true Ted,” Dougal nodded. 

Ted sat on a kitchen chair, deflated. Being hoodwinked by his opposite number and his boss was no surprise to him. He’d been battling their attempts to cut him down for years. But the reality of it still hurt and feeling of betrayal stung. Worse though was the rumbling air-horn of panic he felt when he faced the inevitability of life without Dougal. 

Mrs. Doyle saw the priests look at each other. A desperate but silent conversation passed between them as they acknowledged the futility of their situation. They were to be seperated. She saw tears beginning to redden both pairs of eyes. She wished she could tell them she knew why it hurt them so much. 

“Father Crilly,” she said quietly, “Father McGuire’s trousers are covered in mud. They’re filthy. Go and get him a clean pair while I sort his shoes out.”

In a trance Ted did as he was told. He barely noticed that their beds had been pushed together and covered with the double bedsheets from the spare room. He opened Dougal’s chest of drawers and to his surprise found a sizeable wad of cash tucked into an old sock. He looked at it, puzzled.

“Dougal has savings?” he pondered. He put the sock back, wondering what on Earth Dougal might be saving up for and pulled out a fresh pair of black trousers. Coupling them with a clean pair of very very very very very black socks he turned to sit on Dougal’s bed to gather his thoughts for a moment. The moment of realisation dawned.

He sprang to his feet and stared at the two beds, the nightstand that had been moved and placed beneath the window and the pale blue double bedsheets. 

“Hells bells!” he whispered to himself. 

The beds had most certainly been pushed together by someone else. He and Dougal had kept them apart all night. Dougal had been bathed and dressed and bossed around by Mrs. Doyle all morning. He wouldn’t have had the time to do it. He fingered the double blanket, noticing how it had been tucked and smoothed in Mrs. Doyle’s signature way. 

“What the feck...?” 

Why would she do this without asking them if they wanted to sleep together? It was almost as if...

“She does know!” he said to the empty room. 

This was a revelation Ted could have done without, given the gravity of the unfolding Serejavo problem, but he couldn’t live with the painful awkwardness of second-guessing Mrs. Doyle any more. Life was about to become too stressful. He would speak to her directly and deny everything. 

“Mrs. Doyle!” he called from the top of the stairs, “Mrs. Doyle, I can’t find any clean trousers for Dougal. Would you come and help me look?”

Pleased that her conversation-starter with the bedsheets appeared to have worked, Mrs. Doyle peeled away from the tight grip of Father McGuire’s arms as he clung to her in search of mothering comfort. He mumbled about life without Ted. She pulled the blanket tighter around Dougal’s shoulders and put a crustless jam sandwich in his hand. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, “we’ll find a way to sort this out. Don’t you worry, Father McGuire.”

She made her way upstairs to find Ted on his imaginary treadmill of crisis-pacing, a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“Mrs. Doyle,” he said as she entered the bedroom. He gestured to the bed, the great, glaring double bed, “what is the meaning of this?”

“Well I’d need some help to move the double bed in from the spare room, Father,” Mrs. Doyle said confidently, “it’s a little heavy for one person. Unless you and Father McGuire want to move rooms of course. Until then I thought you might appreciate a double blanket.”

“Mrs. Doyle...” Ted had prepared an adventure-story epic of denial. Mrs. Doyle silenced it with one raised eyebrow. Ted stared in exasperation. 

“Can I speak with you Father Crilly?” she asked. 

Ted gulped and nodded. She sat down on the bed and patted the space next to her. It was often easier to talk when people weren’t looking directly at each other. Sitting side by side she hoped the discussion would be more comfortable for them both. Ted tentatively took his place beside the dowdy, eccentric housekeeper, dreading whatever disastrous revelation was about to come next.

“Mr. Doyle and I...” Mrs. Doyle began. Her voice cracked and she paused. 

Ted’s eyes widened with embarrassment. Mrs. Doyle never spoke about her husband. He could recall only one time she tried and got as far as ‘my husband’ before deciding she’d already disclosed too much. To Ted’s relief she hadn’t continued. He had been surprised by the unpleasantness he felt when faced with the reality that once upon a time Mrs. Doyle had a life outside of their parochial house bubble. It had given him a stab of irrational jealousy. He felt the same jealousy again now, needling at his the space between his chest and stomach.

“Oh?” he said, reluctantly encouraging her to go on. Mrs. Doyle took a deep breath.

“Mr. Doyle and I weren’t blessed with a big family,” she breathed out a long sigh as she spoke. Ted nodded. He knew she had no children and he was sorry for that. She would have made a wonderful, if not incredibly irritating, mother. 

“We had only one son,” Mrs. Doyle announced. A slight smile of pride played on her lips. Ted felt himself reel backwards with the shock. 

“A-a son, Mrs. Doyle?” he stammered. He found himself no longer worried about the bed situation. The sudden and unexpected foray into Mrs. Doyle’s mysterious past had him stunned.

“Yes, little Frances. Or Frank as we called him. He was a cherub, you know, Father. He was all freckles with the cheekiest smile. And so flamboyant! He would sing and dance and oh God above I...” Mrs. Doyle squeezed her shoulders towards her neck in a physical expression of her delight, “I loved him!! He would be the same age as Father McGuire. 29 now.”

Ted nodded as a dawning of realisation began to creep up on him. A lot of the nuances that made up their slightly crazy household were starting to make a lot sense.

“When he was 18 he started work on the same farm as Mr. Doyle. He got friendly with the lads there, they’d go to the football and out to the pub together, all that lads stuff you know all about,” she elbowed Father Crilly in the spirit of commonality but he sensed a nervousness about it, “we noticed that he seemed to take no interest in the girls and we wondered if he wasn’t just a little shy, you know how lads get. But he got a little too close to one lad Father. They were always together. He talked about him all the time. We thought they were just good friends. But then Mr. Doyle caught them committing a terrible sin in the barn.”

Ted swallowed. His heart was beating fast. He was glad he was sitting beside Mrs. Doyle. He didn’t think he could look at her. 

“It was a terrible shock Father. My beautiful boy was...,” she struggled to say the word, “g-gay.”

There was silence between them. Ted put his head in his hands. 

“Mr. Doyle threw him out,” Mrs. Doyle went on, “told him we considered him dead. And although it broke my heart, Father Crilly, I was so scared and confused I supported my husband instead of my son.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the yellowing letter, handing it to Ted. He took it gingerly and unfolded the delicate paper. 

Dear Mammy, 

I’m sorry you think I’ve let you and Daddy down but I can’t help who I am and who I love. I love Danny very much and I can’t imagine a life without him. We’ve moved to Liverpool in England. No-one bats an eyelid here. They’re even talking about legalising same-sex marriage one day. 

I know the Church doesn’t approve and you’ll be embarrassed in front of all the friends and family but please try to understand.

I don’t think I’ll get anywhere with Daddy but I want you to know I love you so much and if you can ever find it in your heart to see past this then I want my Mammy back. I miss you so much. Please don’t let this tear us apart forever.

I love you. 

Frankie.

“Oh Mrs. Doyle,” Ted sighed. His eyes were burning with tears that betrayed his moved emotions. 

For the first time in all the years they had lived together he reached out to put a tentative but very warm and caring arm around her shoulders. He held her as she let out a few honking sobs. 

“Mr. Doyle wouldn’t have any of it,” she said eventually, “he wouldn’t let me reply. But God I wanted to, Father! I missed my boy so much! By the time Mr. Doyle died Frankie had moved on from that address. I don’t know where he is now or how to find him. I lost my only son because I was too scared to stand up for what I know now is right...so what if people are gay?”

She moved out of Ted’s embrace and looked him in the eye. 

“It’s not wrong,” she said pointedly, “no matter what the Church says Father.”

“No,” Ted said bravely, “I don’t believe it is either, Mrs. Doyle.”

“I-I,” Mrs. Doyle began. She swallowed nervously, “I know you and Father McGuire have a very special relationship.”

Ted retreated behind his hands. He covered his face to hide himself from the reality of this horror. His secret was out. 

“No, no,” Mrs. Doyle pulled his hands away and made him look at her, “listen Father. I know and I think it’s beautiful. I think it would be a tragedy if you were parted. I messed up when I failed to support my own son, Father Crilly. I won’t let it happen again. I love Father McGuire as my own and this is my second chance to make things right.”

Ted came out of hiding behind his tightly closed eyes. He relaxed and gaped at her, open-mouthed. Was he hearing this or did he need to study Dougal’s Dreams v Reality chart? 

“No matter what happens I will do whatever I can to stop you from being sent away. And if anything happens to split us all up,” she took his hand and squeezed it, “I promise to go with you and Father McGuire. Even if you’re not priests any more.”

“I don’t know what to say, Mrs. Doyle,” Ted said with genuine appreciation, “my biggest worry was what would happen to you and Jack if the secret got out.”

“We’ll find a way,” she said confidently. 

“And when we’ve got ourselves out of this mess,” Ted said, “we’re going to find your son.”

——————————————————

After a good cry and a hug the bewildered pastor and his loyal housekeeper had gone back downstairs to check on the young curate. Dougal had stripped off his muddy shoes, socks and trousers. He stood at the kitchen table in his paisley boxers and shirt-tails, eating jam straight from the pot. He licked his lips guiltily as Ted gave him the look. 

“Dougal do we need to have that talk about eating jam straight from the pot yet again?” he asked.

“I’m sorry Ted,” Dougal said, “I just needed cheering up.”

Ted smiled warmly at him and put a hand on his upper back. 

“It’s ok, Dougal. You enjoy it...but just this once. It’s been a tough day,” he relented, yet again unable to refuse him. Dougal grinned, “Mrs. Doyle has something she’d like to tell you.”

Dougal spooned some more jam into his mouth and turned to the house-keeper expectantly as he savoured the sticky sweetness, convinced it tasted better now Ted had given him permission to eat it straight from the jar. 

“Father McGuire,” Mrs. Doyle began, “I need to tell you that I know you and Father Crilly have a special relationship. And I’m not angry about it.”

Dougal’s eyebrows knitted. He looked at Ted for guidance. 

“She knows that we love each other,” Ted simplified. He put a reassuring hand on Dougal’s shoulder, “in our special kind of way.”

“She knows we’re gay?” Dougal blurted through a mouthful of sticky red jam. He gave his wide-eyed stare.

“Yes,” Ted said. 

“Oh bollocks,” Dougal muttered. His gaze turned to the house-keeper, “what about the Bishop?”

“He won’t hear it from me,” Mrs. Doyle said. 

She stood before the two priests and paused before giving in to her sentiments and enveloping them both in a tight, passionate hug. 

“I do love you two boys,” she said as she squeezed them, “and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you together. And if the Bishop wants to split us all up over the Serejavo thing...or he tries to split us up for any other reason then I promise I’ll go with you, wherever that might be.”

She stood back to look at them again, taking in their pleasantly shocked expressions. She touched their faces fondly and smiled as they both invited her back in for a long and lingering group hug. She felt, for the first time in years, that she finally belonged to a family again.

“You know I love Ted?” Dougal’s jam-encrusted grin was joyous. Finally he had someone he could tell just how much he loved the older priest, “cos I do, Mrs. Doyle. I love him very much. He’s a big eejit but I think he’s just great.”

“I know you do,” Mrs. Doyle smiled, “and it makes me happy to know that you’ve found love with each other. I mean I must be blind...God knows the signs have been there for years!”

“We won’t get split up though, will we Ted?” Dougal hunted for Ted’s hand and took it, “we can think of a plan can’t we?”


	15. Tea, Jealousy and an Idea

There was a surprisingly serene feeling in the common room after dinner that night. Ted had anticipated an evening of crippling anxiety but somehow his enlightening conversation with Mrs. Doyle had eased some of his fear about the future. He’d had to manage Dougal’s increased demands for cuddles and kisses, reminding him that just because Mrs. Doyle supported them it didn’t mean she wanted to be subjected to endless displays of affection. It took a couple of explanations but Dougal eventually seemed to get the message.

While Ted sat in his armchair thinking desperately for a plan Dougal lay sprawled on the sofa, digesting the news that Mrs. Doyle had a son his own age. He was plagued with a curious emotional reaction he couldn’t quite place. The knowledge bothered him. 

“...and his name’s Frank?” he asked her for the third time as she tottered in with a fresh pot of tea, “...and he’s my age? Well is he taller or shorter than me? Who’s better looking? Who’s better behaved? Is he a better footballer? Does he eat jam from the pot? Does he like He-Man? Who...”

Ted anticipated Dougal’s next question and interjected before Mrs. Doyle was affronted with an impassioned ‘who do you love best?’ which of course she couldn’t possibly answer to Dougal’s ultimate satisfaction.

“God almighty Dougal,” he interrupted, “anyone would think you’re jealous of Mrs. Doyle’s son or something the way you go on.”

“Oh I am Ted!” Dougal’s sat up, his eyes wide as Ted gave a name to the feeling that gnawed away inside, “I’m very jealous! Because I thought I had Mrs. Doyle all to myself! I didn’t realise I had competition!”

Mrs. Doyle shrieked with laughter. In all her years of looking after these priests she had longed to feel needed and valued by them. Today her day-dreams of a fantasy happy family were realised. 

“You’ve still got me,” she reassured as she poured a cup of very sweet, milky tea just the way he liked it, “there’s nothing to feel jealous about, Father. It’s never made me love you any less has it?”

Dougal took his cup and eyed her questioningly. 

“I hope you’re not going to bring him here and give him all the milky tea and the jam and the spoon from the cake mix and the cup of cocoa at night-time,” he announced, “because I wouldn’t like that at all!”

“Don’t worry Father,” Mrs. Doyle laughed, “I’d never leave you out.”

“How are you going to find him?” Dougal asked, “will you go on that TV show, Long Lost Family?”

“I don’t know, Father. I expect we’ll think of something.”

“I think it would be grand to get Davina McCall to help you,” Dougal said emphatically, “sometimes it can really help to have someone really glamorous on your side. Someone really famous.”

Ted, who’d been lost in his own thoughts of plans and schemes, had only been half-listening. He caught the tail-end of Dougal’s suggestion and snapped his head up.

“That’s it!” he said brightly. 

“What?” Dougal and Mrs. Doyle asked in unison. 

“I didn’t tell you this because...well it was sensitive, at the time,” Ted explained, “but Louis Walsh came into the Church the other week when I was praying for some guidance about our relationship. I talked to him for a while. You know he was very, very understanding.”

“The Louis Walsh?” Mrs. Doyle asked, astounded. 

“Yes,” Ted nodded.

“Is he real?” Dougal looked uncertainly from Ted to Mrs. Doyle, “or is he just a character, like Darth Vader?”

“Yes he’s real!” Ted said in exasperation. 

“Well I’m sorry, sometimes it’s hard to tell with people off the telly,” Dougal said, “so he’s real like Eoin McLove was real?”

“Yes,” Ted said slowly. 

“But he didn’t turn out to be an awful eejit like Eoin did he? He had no willy!” Dougal reminded everyone with a glint of glee in his eyes. 

“No he was a very nice, very unassuming and very understanding man, given the sensitivity of my situation at the time,” Ted explained, “he made me promise that if I ever needed to speak to him again about anything to do with...”

He looked sideways at Father Jack, who was snoring noisily in the corner. 

“...with being gay, I would call him. He gave me his business card,” Ted said. He began rifling in his wallet until he found it, “here it is. His own personal number.”

“Louis Walsh is sponsoring the Craggy Island Pride parade,” Dougal said suddenly, “Fintan and Mitch told me that at the planning meeting last week.”

“I thought I told you not to go?” Ted frowned. 

“You said I could put them in touch with the Funland organisers,” Dougal said defensively, “anyway Louis is bringing over a load of really hip music acts. All the latest celebrities. He’s going to turn it into a big festival. You’ll love it, Ted.”

“No, Dougal, I won’t love it at all,” Ted frowned again, “because it’s going to get me sent to Serejavo, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Dougal sat back, defeated, “ahh well who knows Ted maybe he can think of something to help you out. It’s worth giving him a call.”

“If he’s sponsoring the event it might be...” Ted thought out loud.

A tiny seedling of hope began to push through the layers of despair in his belly. 

“What we really need to know,” Mrs. Doyle said, “is when the Bishop is planning to stage the Pride on Rugged Island. Then we know wether Craggy Pride comes first or second.”

“And we know if we have a chance to sabotage it somehow!” Ted grinned. 

Father Jack let out a roaring snort and opened both eyes suddenly and urgently. Dougal moved away, anticipating a personal accident could have occurred. Jack focused his good eye on Dougal and then on Ted. 

“Arse!” he announced.

“Ahh Father, you’re awake!” Ted smiled, “welcome back! We’ve been having a terrible crisis since you’ve been out of it but don’t let that worry you.”

“Arse!” Jack repeated, “gobshite.” 

He fumbled down the side of the chair and launched a small black book at Ted’s head. It clipped him on the eyebrow and fell into his lap. 

“Oof!” Ted protested, “what’s this?”

He looked down at the book and then back at Jack in amazement. 

“God almighty!! It’s the Bishop’s diary!!” he yelled, “well done Father!! Ahhhh I knew you’re not always as fast asleep as you pretend you are!!”

Ted leafed through the diary and found an entry on June 12th. The Bishop’s neat but mean-looking handwriting had scribed ‘Rugged Pride, 12pm. Archbishop arriving 2pm’. 

“When is Craggy Pride, Dougal?” Ted asked urgently.

“June 5th,” Dougal said confidently.

“Awgh shite we’re first!!” Ted said, “that means they get the advantage of watching what happens to us to make the situation even more humiliating. And look at this!! He’s written a list of all the priests he’s got to stage a fake pride!! Father Fintan Stack, Father Todd Unctious, Father Larry Duff, Father Paul Stone, Father Noel Furlong, Father Damo...he’s turned all our friends against us!!”

“Father Stack was hardly a friend,” Mrs. Doyle said disapprovingly. 

“Father Damo is in on it?” Dougal looked crestfallen, “I thought he was my friend Ted.”

“Dougal the chances are all these priests don’t know the full story, they’re just doing what they’re told. Just like we would,” Ted smiled comfortingly, “it’s important not to make assumptions.”

“Go call Louis Walsh,” Dougal said, “and then we can start planning what we’re going to do.”


	16. A Problem Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted finds helping hands in unexpected places.

One week later a nervous Ted Crilly sat in the Craggy Island Village Hall in a circle among the LGBT community alongside a bewildered and excitable Dougal, whose two worlds had collided in extraordinary circumstances. Ted had phoned Louis Walsh and explained the Pride problem who listened with keen interest. He did not however offer the solution Ted had been hoping for, and instead invited him to the next Pride planning meeting with a suggestion that he be open about his relationship with Dougal. It had given him several sleepless nights but Louis had appealed for his confidence. Now, here he sat, looking at the equally nervous faces of several young gay men and women, who looked at him expectantly. He had to be honest, it was now, never or Serejavo.   
“This is Father Ted Crilly,” Louis said warmly, “he has a problem he’d like to share with the committee about this year’s Pride event. Over to you, Father.”   
Ted gulped. He could feel the ripple of several pairs of folded arms tightening defensively, the glowering expression on several faces, the fire of conflict in several bellies. He was right that the stony faces were expecting an appeal to cancel the Pride event altogether because it was offensive to the Church. He was going to ask them to do just that, but not for the reasons they expected. He had to pitch this just right. He glanced at Dougal who smiled at him encouragingly and in his eyes saw the reason he was about to put his secret on the line. Because, he thought, the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.   
“Hello everyone,” Ted laughed nervously as he stood up and took the floor, “and thank you for having me and Father Dougal here tonight. I understand many of you have already met Dougal and he’s been quite the…er…help in planning the Pride event so far.”   
Fintan nudged Dougal and gave him a friendly wink. Dougal blushed and looked at his shoes. He wasn’t used to positive attention and glanced around nervously. His hand toyed with a cube in his pocket, his fingertips stroking the corners, as he watched Ted pace around like he did when he was delivering Mass and thinking on his feet.   
“You’re probably all wondering why I’m here,” Ted said, “and the reason is to ask for your help in fighting homophobia and preventing the forced ending of a relationship that is very special to my heart.”   
He felt a few arms relax, some expressions melt from stony hostility to curiosity on a few faces, a collective sigh of relief that Ted was not here to appeal to the group to appease the Church.   
“Now this may come as a surprise,” Ted swallowed. His throat felt dry, “and I beg of you for your confidence in this matter. But after eight years of living and working together Father Dougal and I have come to realise that we share a very deep love for each other.”   
Ted looked to Louis for help. Louis simply smiled with his eyes and urged him to go on.   
“A very deep romantic love,” Ted continued, “…we are lovers.”   
All arms uncrossed themselves. All faces exploded into delighted surprise. Ted wasn’t expecting the round of applause that followed, or the whistles and cheers that filled the room. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed in amazement while Dougal found himself being clapped on the back. He looked first at Dougal, who looked equally as astonished, and then at Louis who gave him a knowing wink.   
“Amazing!” Fintan laughed, “a couple of priests have just come out in our group!”   
“What a win for equal rights!” Rosheen cheered, “stick that to the Church!”   
“Thank you,” Ted nodded with genuine appreciation of their support, “thank you all so much for your encouragement. As I’m sure you can imagine, as priests, it wasn’t easy to come out.”   
“Well done,” Mitch clapped, “it’s never easy for anyone but I get that it was harder for you. It must have turned your world upside down.”   
“It did,” Ted agreed, “but it’s been so worth it, to be able to love Dougal the way I’ve always wanted to.”   
There were several awwws and Dougal blushed again, barely able to hide his enormous, if not slightly gormless, grin. He looked to Mrs. Doyle who patted his knee fondly.   
“Now the reason I’m here to tonight is to ask for your help and support,” Ted began his pitch, “the Bishop Brennan knows there is a Pride event planned on Craggy Island. He’s set up a fake Pride on Rugged Island and pitched me and Father Dick Byrne against each other to put up the best protest against the events. He is going to report out performances back to the Archbishop and whoever does the worst job will be sent to a parish in Serejavo.”   
There was a chorus of shocked gasps, murmurs and eventually boos from the crowd before him.   
“As there won’t be a real Pride on Rugged Island and all the attendees will be priests who’ve been put up to the job, there’s no way I can win the competition. It’s a complete set-up. Now all of that I don’t mind, because I don’t actually want to protest the Pride. I want the event to go ahead. I think it’s great! But what I’m really upset about is the thought of being sent away to a new parish without Father Dougal,” Ted didn’t realise he’d extended a longing arm towards the young priest, “I just couldn’t bear it. Neither of us could. The Bishop doesn’t know about our relationship and if we told him we’d be de-frocked and have nowhere to go.”   
“I can’t believe a fecking Bishop would exploit homosexual Pride to get rid of a priest!” Fintan yelled angrily, “so typical of the feckin’ Catholic Church!’   
“Aww they must be so scared,” Mitch said empathetically.   
“We can’t let the Church tear them apart,” Rosheen said, turning to her friends and colleagues on the committee, “there must be something we can do to help?”   
“I really am appealing to your kinder natures to help me find a solution,” Ted begged, “not just for me but for Father Dougal and for Father Jack who’ll be sent away to a home and Mrs. Doyle who might lose her job. We really are desperate…”   
“The Church is a fecking joke,” Fintan shook his head in disbelief, “of course we’ll help you, Father. Does anyone have any ideas?”   
“So run the Rugged Pride thing past me again,” Mitch said thoughtfully, “it’s a fake? I mean, if there was a real event planned we would know about it. And there isn’t.”   
“He’s recruited some priests to dress up as Pride marchers so Dick Byrne can do a particularly brilliant job at protesting the event and closing it down quickly,” Ted explained, “all he’ll need to do is wave a few placards and the priests will be on cue to disband. Pride over. Job done.”   
“Disgusting,” Rosheen shook her head angrily.   
“So…we could postpone the Craggy Island event,” Mitch said, “and re-route the march, the music, the whole entire festival to Rugged Island and this Father Dick won’t be able to close it down because it will be bigger than he ever expected?”   
“That’s a genius idea!” Fintan whooped, “we stage the fake Pride here and move the real Pride to Rugged Island! Father Ted and Father Dougal get to stay, Father Dick and the Bishop are humiliated for their homophobia and we can have a proper Craggy Island Pride after Father Dick is posted off to Serejavo!!”   
Ted glanced around at the excited faces, each of them delighted to help him and moving into a group discussion to solve his problem. The idea was a genius one, he had to admit, and he felt a flicker of hope in his heart that it might work. Voices, each contributing new branches to the idea, rose and an excited babble filled the air. Louis smiled at Ted again. It was another knowing, wise smile. Ted smiled back, realising that Louis had been sure all along that his bravery in coming out would be rewarded with the support and kindness of strangers.   
“Ted!” Dougal shouted suddenly. His cry silenced the babble of noise as he jumped out of his chair and ran to Ted’s side, “Ted there’s something I wanted to say.”   
Ted looked on nervously. For all his love of Dougal he wasn’t always confident in his public addresses which usually resulted in embarrassment, the disclosure of secrets or the foiling of a carefully laid plan.   
“Dougal?” he asked cautiously.   
Dougal moved from foot to foot in an anxious dance as he considered his next move. He looked at Ted as he put his hand in his pocket and drew out the cube he had been playing with.   
“I thought of a solution, Ted,” he announced. There was a sudden confidence in his voice and Ted noticed the sparkle in those beautiful azure blue eyes which were a philosophy in themselves. In a surprisingly graceful move for a usually clumsy priest, Dougal dropped to one knee and thrust the velvet-covered box towards Ted, opening it to reveal a titanium ring, “will you marry me?”   
Another chorus of awwws. Ted stared in shock at the glinting silver ring that quivered in Dougal’s shaking hands. It caught the light and flashed at him like a neon sign blinking to announce that his greatest wish had come true. There was a palpable tension in the room as the group waited for Ted’s answer. Silence fell except for the beating of Ted’s own heart against the confines of his chest. He looked at Dougal’s hopeful expression, the optimistic pleading in his eyes, and felt that heart break.   
“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered as he knelt to Dougal’s level. His hands closed over Dougal’s as they held the box between them, “Dougal…my God, I would love to marry you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. But we can’t get married. We’re priests. Priests aren’t allowed to get married.”   
“We could leave the priesthood Ted!” Dougal said emphatically, “Bishop Brennan and Serejavo and all that stuff wouldn’t matter because no-one could ever split us up if we were married! We could get married in England. I asked Fintan all about same-sex marriage and he explained it all to me. And it’s what I want to do because I want to be with you forever.”   
“Dougal,” Ted’s voice was calm, the comforting tone he used to explain a complicated moral problem to the younger priest, “Dougal if we left the priesthood we’d have no jobs. We’d have no home. Where would we live? How would we survive? Believe me my darling I’d marry you tonight if I could but it’s not possible.”   
“It is, Ted!” Dougal said angrily. A flash of frustration and hurt burned in his eyes, “it is possible it’s just that you’re scared.”   
“I’m not Dougal, I’m just trying to be sensible,” Ted appealed to Dougal’s kinder nature but the younger priest was shaking with anger, “I don’t want to put you in a position where you’re hungry and homeless because I love you…and I care that you’re all right.”   
Dougal snatched the ring out of Ted’s hands and stood up. His face was a crease of rage Ted had never seen before.   
“You’ve a fecking funny way of showing it, Ted,” he said coolly. He turned on his heel and walked out of the Village Hall, tucking the ring back into his pocket as he went. Mrs. Doyle scrambled to her feet and tottered after him, leaving Ted aghast as he stood there before this group of happy strangers, humiliated and feeling his own pain. The anger in his Dougal’s eyes had sliced through his soul like a blade.   
“Dougal!” Ted called.   
“Leave him, Ted,” Louis advised, “he’s hurting and angry. Let him calm down.”

“I want to marry him,” Ted said to Louis and the group whom he felt sure probably loathed him now and wouldn’t want to help him anymore, “of course I’d marry him but someone has to be sensible and think of the consequences. Oh why does it always have to be me?”   
He sat on a chair and buried his head in his hands. He felt the treadmill of guilt and responsibility begin to turn on him again. Having found peace with God he’d been presented with the threat of clerical deportation to Serejevo. Having found a solution to that particularly challenging conundrum it seemed he would lose Dougal anyway. Why was life so impossible?   
“Dougal’s right,” Fintan said gently, “you don’t have to stay with the Church forever.”   
“If it were an option to leave I would,” Ted said emphatically, “but Dougal’s a special soul. He’d struggle with a real job. And I’m so out of practice I think I’d struggle too. We’d have to leave the Parochial House and fend for ourselves. We’ve been in the priesthood too long to know how to survive in the real world.”   
“Give yourself some time to think about it,” Mitch smiled kindly, “and leave the Serejavo problem to us. We’ll put on the biggest and best Pride Rugged Island could ever hope to dream of. God it’ll be great!!” 

When Ted got home Dougal was nowhere to be found. Mrs. Doyle greeted him with a sad smile and offered him a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted as he sat in his armchair to prepare himself for another long think.   
“Is he very upset?” he asked Mrs. Doyle nervously.   
“He’s not happy,” Mrs. Doyle pulled a wry expression, “but it’s because he’s too young to understand, Father. He’ll come around.”   
“I hope I wasn’t hard on him,” Ted fretted, “I’m worried about how he’s feeling but the crazy thing is that I’m absolutely delighted he even wants to marry me in the first place. I mean ha! I’ve been proposed to by the man I love! Isn’t that something, Mrs. Doyle?”   
“It’s wonderful Father,” Mrs. Doyle smiled, “but I don’t think any of your great plans or schemes will resolve this one.”   
“No,” Ted agreed, “they won’t.” 

He found Dougal lying in their bed, his back to Ted, pretending to sleep. Ted could tell when the lad was feigning sleep – he was always too quiet for one thing and his body was tucked too tidily into the bed for another. He could sense an anger in the air, a furious hurt that was being let out with each of Dougal’s shallow breaths. Ted lay on his side of the bed and extended a gentle arm over Dougal’s waist.   
“Dougal?” he whispered.   
“Feck off Ted,” Dougal replied, “just go away.”   
“Please sweetheart, don’t be angry,” Ted pleaded, “can we talk?”   
“I’ve nothing to say, Ted,” Dougal swallowed loudly and Ted could hear that he’d been crying into his pillow, “this whole thing has been a joke to you. You’ve touched me in places you shouldn’t and you’ve told me you loved me and it’s all been for your own entertainment because you didn’t mean any of it.”   
“Dougal that’s not true!” Ted gasped.   
“If you meant it then you’d at least think about marrying me,” Dougal sounded more like a grown man than Ted had ever heard in him before and he listened with a new reverence, “and to hell with the Church and all the consequences. We could get jobs and somewhere to live if we tried. I know we’d struggle. I know you think I made a mess of being a milkman and all that but I didn’t, Ted. I was doing ok until Pat Mustard put the bomb on the milk float and that wasn’t my fault. He did it because he was pissed off with you for interfering with his job. So I might not be so bad at being something other than a priest after all – who knows? What I do know is that I’d try for you Ted. The thing is you won’t try for me because you’re too scared. Your fear is greater than your love. And that hurts.”   
Ted had no response. It wasn’t often Dougal was able to explain his feelings and the rarity of his wisdom made his words even more profound. He gazed down at the back of Dougal’s head, the curls of auburn hair in the nape of his neck, the slight shudder in his shoulders as he silenced another sob.   
“Please Dougal, I’m begging you now,” Ted felt tears spring into his own eyes, “I know you’re angry. But I want you to know that you’ve made me so happy by asking me to marry you. God it’s a dream I never knew I had come true! I…I was shocked but I’m certain it’s what I’d want if it were possible. I’d love to be your husband and know that the Church could never split us up. But what I want more is to know that you’re safe and you’ve got somewhere to live and plenty to eat and all those things you think about when you care very deeply for someone.”   
“You’re just scared Ted,” Dougal said wanly.   
“Yes I am,” Ted whispered, “it takes a lot for a man to admit he’s scared, Dougal, but I am. I’m even more scared of losing you though. Even though you’re angry with me you won’t stop loving me, will you?”   
Dougal turned over and met Ted’s gaze in the blue hue of moonlight. They stared at each other, nose to nose, both equal in their power for the first time in the whole of their acquaintance. Ted was no longer the boss and Dougal was no longer the junior. They were partners with an equal share in resolving this problem. Dougal could sense his new role in the relationship and he felt as if he weas pulling on a new and more comfortable sweater, one that gave him room to be honest and assertive.   
“You know Ted,” he said finally, “I’m just really, really fecked off with you right now. I’m angrier than Jack when you took that magnum of champagne off him at the All Priests Christmas Party. I’m angrier than Bishop Brennan when you kicked him up the arse, or that man in the wheelchair who thought you’d stolen his whistle. I’m angrier than all of those people put together. But I’ll always love you.”   
Ted felt his body dip on hearing those words. Tears of relief welled in his eyes and Dougal felt one splash onto his cheek. He blinked and rubbed his cheek with the corner of the duvet. Already his anger was subsiding. It helped to talk about his feelings, he reasoned. And perhaps Ted was right to be cautious about their future.   
“Please sweetheart,” Ted began, “I know you’re angry but I’m scared and I really, really need a cuddle.”   
“You need a cuddle?” Dougal asked. He felt a flash of astonishment that Ted would admit his vulnerability and turn to him for comfort. His heart calmed a little more, “from me?”   
“Yes,” Ted said weakly.   
Dougal caved. He turned to Ted and mused at the role reversal as he opened his arm and let Ted snuggle into it. He held him there tightly and buried his nose into Ted’s thick grey hair, enjoying the comforting familiarity of its scent. As he felt Ted’s body heave a relieved sigh, Dougal felt himself begin to appreciate the need to consider the feelings of others in his perspective of the world. Perhaps he had been hasty.   
“I love you Ted,” he whispered, “but you’re still just a big gobshite.”


	17. One Night Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted and Dougal get some peace. 
> 
> ***Adult Content Warning***

The following week Jack was safely deposited at the All Priests Over-75’s conference with a suitcase full of Jack Daniels and a long straw hidden in his sleeve. Ted dropped him off at the hotel and delightedly handed him over to the care of an experienced-looking nun who would take no nonsense.  
“Arse!” Jack spluttered, “nuns, reverse!”  
“Ah come on now Father you’ll be grand,” Ted said cheerfully, “the conference needs your important contributions this year.”  
“Gobshite,” Jack yelped.  
“Yeah, yeah,” Ted was already walking back around to the driver’s side of the car, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Behave yourself now, Father.”  
And a Jack-free night was as simple as that. Mrs. Doyle had left for the mainland earlier that morning and when Ted arrived home he found an excitable Dougal waiting for him in the common room, tugging nervously at his vest as he anticipated a whole night in the house by themselves.  
“And there we have it,” Ted grinned as he strode into the room and threw his coat onto a nearby chair, “just you and me.”  
The couple embraced and held each other close for a long time. The freedom to hug in their own living room was such a simple but rare delight that they hung on to savour the moment. Ted nipped at the silken flesh behind Dougal’s ear and smiled as he felt him giggle.  
“Now, let’s make the most of it,” Ted suggested. He pulled his dog-collar off and threw it casually over his shoulder. He raised a slow, teasing finger and hooked it over the top of Dougal’s collar, “tonight we’re not priests. We’re just Ted and Dougal.”  
He kissed the delighted young man as he plucked his dog-collar quickly and efficiently from around his neck, like a magician pulling a tablecloth from under a pile of crockery. Dougal’s shirt fell open at the neck and Ted leaned in to kiss the triangle of exposed flesh it left behind.  
When Ted finally let go of Dougal he went around the room lighting candles. Dougal looked around, his eyes wide, at the new shadows that appeared on the walls and the soft romantic glow that flickered around them. He stared in surprise as Ted produced a bottle of red wine he’d kept safely hidden from Jack in the box of empty bottles beside the older priest’s chair.  
“That’s a great hiding place!!” he laughed, “is that for us?”  
“Well it’s not for anyone else,” Ted shrugged. Dougal admired how handsome he was in the candlelight with his shirt open at the neck and his shirt-sleeves rolled up. He watched as Ted grabbed a corkscrew and flexed his arm as he prepared to open the bottle.  
“You don’t normally let me drink alcohol,” Dougal observed. He stood behind the sofa, his fingertips absent-mindedly stroking the Jesus throw, “you went mad when Father Stack gave me a load of booze and I came in here drunk as a mad eejit. You told him it was the final straw for getting me drunk like that.”  
“Yeah well,” Ted pulled a face as he strained with the corkscrew, “that’s because he didn’t know you and wasn’t being responsible with you. You can have a drink with me because I’ll look after you.”  
Ted poured them a glass of wine each and they cheered to themselves before taking a sip. Ted eyed Dougal closely to make sure he wasn’t gulping the wine. Dougal was right – he didn’t usually approve of Dougal drinking because on the handful of occasions when he’d become inebriated the inevitable disaster had followed. Not long after Dougal arrived at the Parochial House Ted had celebrated a birthday. Not knowing Dougal very well at all back then he put no restrictions on the young priest’s alcohol consumption and was horrified to find him asleep in the ditch outside with a pair of underpants on his head the following day. Dougal had to take leave of Mass that morning to be sick in the Church bathroom, much to the disgust of the parishioners who recognised the green look in his cheeks only too well. It hadn’t been a great start to his time on Craggy Island.  
Forget the Bible, Ted thought. This was heaven.

Ted held Dougal by the waist as they swayed to the music. Teasingly, they pressed lightly against against each other’s cocks, enjoying the sparks of anticipation that sent shockwaves through their bodies. Ted rolled his hips against Dougal’s and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Dougal tucked his face against Ted’s neck and stroked the backs of his arms.

“I love you, Ted,” he whispered.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Ted replied, nuzzling into his hair.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Dougal sighed. 

The song on the record died out to a fade and was replaced with Maurice William’s ‘Stay’.

“Stay!! Ahhhhh....” Ted sang. Ted recognised it from Dirty Dancing. He grasped Dougal by the hips, pulled him closer and ground his swelling cock into Dougal’s in time to the music, “just a little bit longer...”

Dougal closed his eyes and groaned as he felt the heavy, pouting suggestiveness of Ted’s lad rubbing against his own, making it tingle and eventually burn with anticipation. He wanted, more than anything in that moment, to feel Ted’s gentle, tender touch. 

“Ohhhh...” he sighed into Ted’s neck, “ohhh Ted...”

“Do you like that?” Ted asked, pressing his cheek against the top of Dougal’s head, “is this okay, sweetheart?”

“Oh God, yeah...” Dougal moaned. 

“I like making you feel good,” Ted whispered, “there are so many things I want to do to you.”

Dougal let out another groan of relaxed pleasure in response. His eyes, heavy-lidded, fluttered open as he thought of how to tell Ted he wanted to be touched but closed again when he realised he was enjoying Ted’s body against his own too much to think. He was relieved when he didn’t have to ask. Ted knew what he wanted. What he needed.

“Can I touch you, sweetheart?” Ted whispered, noting the signs of Dougal’s growing arousal in the quickening of his breath and the tightening in the cock against which his own was pressed, “I’ll be so gentle with you, I promise.”

“Please...” Dougal begged softly into his neck, “oh please, Ted.”

Ted kissed his head gratefully and ran his fingers tenderly up and down Dougal’s spine a few times. Dougal, it seemed, was in a meditative trance of pleasure and it was Ted’s job to lovingly guide it. 

“Please...” Dougal groaned. Ted felt a rush of excitement burn from his crotch to the soles of his feet at the sound of Dougal actually begging for his touch. 

“Sweetheart,” Ted whispered, “look at me.”

Dougal turned his face upwards, his heavy-lidded eyes gazing into Ted’s. Ted smiled at the tell-tale flush of pink in his cheeks and his swollen, protruding bottom lip.

“Kiss me,” Ted commanded softly. He pressed his lips to Dougal’s so tenderly his touch was feather light. Dougal whimpered as Ted nipped gently on his bottom lip and then licked it in one long sweep from one side to the other, requesting entry. Dougal’s lower jaw dropped and they joined in a slow, embracing kiss that tasted of wine and raw, sexual need. 

As his tongue gently stroked Dougal’s, Ted felt Dougal’s hands reach up and feel for his braces. Something to hold on to, to grip and ground himself in anticipation of Ted’s touch. Ted cupped the back of his head with one hand and slowly traced one fingertip down Dougal’s chest, flicking over his left nipple lightly on the way. Dougal jolted and whined. 

Ted’s fingers continued downwards, over the ticklish parts of Dougal’s belly and over the boundary that was his black leather belt. Ted used the backs of his fingers to tenderly stroke the length of Dougal’s cock. He felt Dougal tense, a rush of breath transferred from Dougal’s mouth to his, as he hooked his first finger around the head of Dougal’s lad and stroked it in a ‘come on’ gesture that made it’s owner shiver and tremble.

“Is that ok?” Ted whispered, breaking their kiss, “does that feel all right?”

“Oh God Ted...” Dougal was shaking now, “yes it’s all right.”

Ted opened his hand and cupped Dougal’s cock and balls, working them into a gentle massage. Dougal tucked his face back into Ted’s neck and groaned again. Ted felt the heat of his quickened breathing against his skin. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” Ted asked, “I want to see and touch all of you.”

Dougal consented and allowed Ted to slowly pick at the buttons on his shirt. He pulled it from the waistband of Dougal’s trousers and opened it, revealing the hot naked flesh of his chest and two nipples so firm they could cut glass. Ted slid an arm around Dougal’s waist as he reached up to tweak his right nipple softly, stroking it between his first two fingers and his thumb. Dougal jerked and quivered. 

“I want to see you, Ted!” Dougal said impatiently. 

Ted felt Dougal’s hands reaching for the buttons on his own shirt and moved around to help him pop them open as their tongues connected and felt each other out in the space between them. When Ted’s shirt joined Dougal’s on the floor he felt Dougal’s hands reach up to explore his naked chest and comb through the tufts of greying hair around each nipple. They groaned together as they kissed and caressed every part of each other’s upper body with their warm, gentle hands. Ted kissed along Dougal’s jawline and nibbled at the flesh there hungrily.

“Ted,” Dougal whispered. There was a desperate look in his wide eyes, “touch me again Ted. Please...I-“

Ted reached down and snapped open Dougal’s belt. Within seconds his trousers had fallen around his ankles and his lad, filling out and heavy now, poked against the fabric of his paisley boxer shorts. Ted could feel the heat of it against his leg. He grunted with satisfaction as his hand returned to massage it, moving slowly up and down against it. He cupped the curves of Dougal’s balls, feeling their weight and caressing his thumb gently across them. Dougal bit his lip and gave a gasp of effort, as if he had been pushing hard against something. Ted looked into his flushed expression and realised he was trying not to peak too quickly. 

“You need to come don’t you?” he whispered, “ it’s okay, just let it happen. We can work up to this again.”

Dougal buried his head against Ted as he willed away the burning need to ejaculate. He breathed hard and panted away a few breaths before grunting with the effort of holding back. Ted stroked the two milky-white bones at the back of his neck.

“If you need to Dougal just come,” he whispered, “don’t fight it, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Dougal’s body tensed and shook. He grunted again, grasped at Ted’s upper arms so hard Ted winced in unexpected pain. Dougal panted and let out a wail. 

“No Ted, I’m all right!” he gasped suddenly, “I don’t need to do it yet.”

Ted took his face in his hands and kissed his cheek. He wouldn’t have minded if Dougal came quickly again. He wasn’t even sure how much control he’d have over his own orgasm if the roles were ever to reverse. But Dougal’s effort to make himself last longer told him he wanted to feel more of this tender pleasure before he let himself go completely.

“Dougal...I’d like to try something new with you,” he whispered, “it might feel a bit strange at first but I promise I won’t hurt you. It will make you feel really good. Better than the last time you let me touch you. Will you let me do it?”

“Yes Ted,” Dougal whimpered, giving over his trust and consent to Ted’s loving leadership. The hand tickling his balls created a feeling of pleasure so magnetic he began to feel that gravitational force of pure and unadulterated need grow within him. Ted helped him step out of his trousers. He lead him to Ted’s own little armchair and stroked his cheek. 

“Promise me you’re not scared or worried about anything?” he asked. 

“I promise Ted,” Dougal sighed. 

“Can I take your pants off?”

“Yes...” Dougal nodded and allowed Ted to pull them down where they dropped to the floor. Dougal’s cock was firm now, a throbbing totem of his desire. Ted looked down at it hungrily and reached to stroke a thumb over the head which glistened with the slick of pre-come. Dougal whimpered, his need mounting again.

“Sit down,” Ted told him. 

Dougal was glad. His legs were shaking so much he didn’t know how much longer he could have maintained his standing position before they buckled beneath him. 

“Slide your arse to the edge of the chair, now,” Ted told him. He did. 

Half lying and half sitting naked in his boss’ armchair in the dim roaring firelight Dougal let his head drop to one side. He looked utterly angelic to Ted. His skin was alight with the flush of his desire and his bottom lip was moist from where he feverishly licked at it with every other laboured breath. He let his legs fall open slightly, his lad standing upright, begging for Ted’s touch. Ted’s own cock swelled again in hot anticipation. Ted took off his own trousers but left his pants on. He knelt before the younger priest and placed a hand on each quivering knee. 

“If there’s anything you don’t like I’ll stop,” he said, “you just have to say. I can touch you like I touched you before or we can stop altogether and cuddle. Okay?”

Dougal whined, a sound that gave away the depths of his desire and his need for whatever Ted was about to do to him. He felt vulnerable as he lay there totally naked, his body bared for Ted’s touch, unsure of what Ted wanted to do to him, but feeling completely safe within his comforting guidance and excited to try it.

Ted pushed at his knees.

“Open your legs for me Dougal,” he was panting now, Dougal noticed, “let me closer to you.”

Dougal let his knees fall wide apart and Ted moved his bare chest between them. His skin felt warm on the insides of Dougal’s thighs as he leaned forward to kiss and suckle at his chest and belly. Dougal felt Ted’s teeth gently nipping at him and sighed, his cock straining beneath the hair on Ted’s nipple. Gradually Ted worked his way down, nipping at the curves of Dougal’s hips and dropping kisses into his auburn pubic hair. 

Dougal wondered what Ted wanted to do to him. He liked being nipped and nibbled on other parts of his body but he hoped Ted wasn’t about to do that to his lad. He didn’t think he’d like that very much at all. His legs twitched as Ted nibbled at his thighs and moved into the soft, silken creases of his crotch.

“Ted!” he yelped suddenly, “you’re not going to bite my old lad now are ye?”

He laughed a little, embarrassed, but relieved when Ted’s head snapped back up in surprise. He shook his head. 

“Of course not,” Ted said, “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“Ok,” Dougal relaxed. 

“But er...” Ted’s eyes glanced about, foiling his attempt to be cool and betraying his own nerves, “can I kiss it?”

Dougal jerked at the thought. A true virgin he’d never experienced any sort of foreplay with girls and had only ever seen porn magazines. The concept of having his lad kissed had never crossed his mind. Bashfully he turned his cheek towards the armchair and smiled. It sounded wonderful.

“Yeah...” he said with a nervous giggle.

Ted grinned gratefully. For all his dreams, waking and sleeping, of sharing this sensual act with Dougal none of them came close to the arresting sweetness of reality as he bit his lip and anticipated how pleasing it would feel for both of them. 

He reached out a hand, caught Dougal’s cheek with his finger and turned the younger priest’s gaze to meet his own. Holding Dougal’s hazel eyes with his, Ted bent his head and tenderly brushed his lips against the head of Dougal’s cock.

“Ohh...” Dougal gasped.

Ted savoured the blast of newness which teased his senses. The feel of the heat and silken skin, the taste and smell of Dougal’s excitement. Hungrily, Ted bent his head for more. A few pecks along the length and another, longer kiss on the tip. Still holding Dougal’s gaze he swallowed.

“Can I lick it?” he asked with a gasp. He didn’t realise he’d been holding his own breath in his eager anticipation. Dougal, too excited to reply, nodded his head.

Gently Ted reached out with his tongue and licked the length, bottom to tip. It tasted beautifully musky, laced with Dougal’s desire for him, and Ted’s appetite only grew. His guilt was none existent now. Gone was the endless drone of doctrine that overshadowed his heart. No thoughts of vows or bishops tormented him. He was using his mouth to please another man in the most intimate of ways and it felt so natural, so right. Here, in the dark and the firelight, there was in fact no other world at all; only he and Dougal existed on this heavenly plane now.

He licked and tasted the younger priest, alternating swirls of his tongue with gentle kisses. Dougal had melted into the chair, a quivering mass of flushed male beauty. His eyes became heavy-lidded and the gasps in his throat combined with a growing need to pant with pleasure. 

“God you’re so beautiful,” Ted murmured.

“Ted I think I think I’ve gone heaven....” Dougal muttered. He moved his head from side to side, “mmm...”

“Can I suck you?” Ted asked.

Dougal felt his excitement kick up a gear at the thought alone. He’d never even imagined, never knew his lad could be sucked, but now he did, he needed it with a thirst that could only be quenched by the feel of Ted’s lips tugging gently at his member. He looked down at Ted who knelt before him expectantly, the firelight dancing on his naked chest, highlighting every curve of his masculinity and making him look every inch the hero Dougal had always imagined him to be. But Ted was no strapping gladiator flexing his strong muscles. Ted was nervous and hungry. His eyes were begging - pleading - with him. Dougal felt a shiver as he considered his own position of power, to permit or deny this man his pleasure. His lad strained so hard it almost touched his belly.

“Oh God Ted, yeah,” he groaned, “please...please...”

Without opening his eyes he felt the heat of Ted’s mouth first, closely followed by the wet slickness of his tongue swirling around the head of his lad before closing over it completely. With warm, moist downward strokes, Dougal felt Ted’s lips slide up and down the length of him while his cheeks, smooth as velvet, pulled a delirium-inducing vacuum around it.

He yelped twice, unsure if he could cope with the sudden wave of sheer ecstasy. It took him and drowned him with such surprise he thought he might stop breathing. He wanted Ted to stop, to carry on, to suck harder still. His body began to thrash as his lungs let out a deep cry of raw pleasure.

“Ahhhhhhhh...” he yelled, “ahhhhh...oh GOD Ted...”

His hands found Ted’s thatch of grey hair. His fingers drove into it, grasping it and pulling hard as if to ground himself from the growing explosion of pleasure that threatened to catapult him into orbit. 

“Ahhh oh God, oh God...” he yelped. His hips took on a mind of their own, thrusting his cock in and out of Ted’s mouth. 

He wanted to look at Ted and savour this image, to capture it and store it amongst his finest memories. He tried to open his eyes - his eyelids felt heavy, almost magnetised - and when he prized them open the vision of Ted, his grey eyes looking up at him from beneath their own passion-heavy lids, made him squirm. Dougal could not feel and did not know about the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. His wails of raw sexual thirst masqueraded as the sound of a man in pain but Dougal could not have felt more arresting pleasure.

Ted’s own cock was sprung and heavy in his pants as he watched Dougal’s body writhe, his chest filled out in anticipation of a loud scream, the cries and whimpers that were uncontrollable now. He felt Dougal’s fingers in his hair, forcing his head down, silently begging him not to stop. He felt a ripple of in the swollen veins that pulsed against his lips and knew his beautiful Dougal was about to ride the crest of a truly explosive orgasm. He felt Dougal’s cock twitch and strain in his mouth and the rise as Dougal’s back arched. The hands in his hair tensed. Ted stopped sucking at just the right time. 

Dougal yelled as a jet of come sprayed three feet in the air. Ted used his hand to keep up the pace, working his cock up and down as it continued to give and give. Dougal made senseless pleading sounds, cried out again and arched his back further, as if the burning joy in his loins was drawing for him. Ted gazed at him, his beautiful, angelic boy writhing on the peak of his most powerful orgasm yet. How delicious he looked when his flushed pink body glistened and his face crumpled into an expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure. There was no fear this time, no panic. Just the giving and receiving of love with no bounds. 

“Fuuuuuck!!” Dougal’s voice sounded animal-like, the deepest growl Ted had ever heard from him, and his choice of language made Ted blink in surprise, “ohhhhhh...Jesus, Mary and Joseph Ted...what did you just do to me?”

“I gave you a blowjob,” Ted said with a matter-of-fact pride in his own performance, “did you like it?”

“I cant think!” Dougal said, holding out a shaky hand in a stop-sign, “I can’t talk, I can’t think, I can’t move. Don’t touch me anymore Ted I can’t STAND it!! But don’t go anywhere!! Don’t move, don’t move at all!!”

“Ok sweetheart,” Ted rubbed his hands along the outsides of Dougal’s thighs, “you just enjoy it. I’ll stay here with you.”

After they recovered the rest of their night was spent snuggled up on the sofa sipping tea from the flasks Mrs. Doyle left for them and watching the football highlights with a takeaway pizza. Forget the Bible, Dougal thought as he changed position and lay back into Ted’s arms. This was heaven.


	18. A Roaring Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted takes his turn in the game of clerical chess against Dick Byrne.

On the morning of the proposed Craggy Island parade, Fintan called at the Parochial House with a couple of placards and some instructions. He seemed wired, Ted thought as he showed him into the lounge, excited and pumped for the day ahead.   
“Tea, Fintan?” Mrs. Doyle rattled in with the tea-tray, “you’ll have a cup before you go off saving us all from a fate worse than death, won’t you?”   
“Ahh sure I’m fine thanks, Mrs. Doyle,” Fintan held up a polite hand against the cup that was thrust into his face, “I’ve got to brief the Fathers and then get off to help the others set up the parade.”   
“Ahh go on,” Mrs. Doyle said pleadingly, “you’ll only regret it when you’re stood out there all day shouting and waving flags about. I don’t know what it is about men and shouting. Just a load of men standing around, shouting.”   
Fintan cast Ted a bemused look.   
“An in-joke,” Ted explained.   
“So won’t you have a cup of tea?” Mrs. Doyle pressed again.   
“No thanks, I’m grand,” Fintan smiled.   
“Ah go on, go on, go on,” Mrs. Doyle pressed.   
“It’s easier if you just say yes,” Dougal proffered.   
“Ok,” Fintan agreed. He waited as Mrs. Doyle poured him a cup of tea and then set it carefully on the table, “right, here’s the plan. We’re going to meet at the Village Hall at midday. The others are dressed to the nines in the brightest rainbow clothes you can imagine, we’ve got a few people to bang some drums, we’ve made some crude signs. There’s only about 15 of us but the plan is to make the biggest tiny spectacle as possible. We’ll march all the way up the main street towards the Church making sure to catch the attention of the Bishop and the Archbishop, who have sent up their vantage point outside O’Leary’s pub. Mitch spotted a couple of camping chairs behind the wall there. You’ll be waiting at the traffic lights just a little way up with these placards.”   
He pointed to the signs. ‘Pray the Gay Away’ and ‘It’s Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve’ had been painted onto a couple of boards in lurid red poster paint.   
“Who’s Adam and Eve?” Dougal pondered, “are they Father Stone’s mammy and daddy? The ones who came to see him in the hospital when he was struck by lightning that time?”   
“Er, no Father, they’re…” Fintan looked at Dougal in bewilderment. Ted performed an exaggerated leap of amusement and laughed loudly.   
“Haha, very funny Dougal,” he chortled, “you know Adam and Eve are the first man and woman in the Garden Of Eden.”   
“Are they relatives of himself?” Dougal thumbed to the statue of Jesus by the window.   
“Sort of, yes,” Ted nodded. He laughed again and turned his attentions to Fintan, “so we have the placards and we give you a bit of the old mouth do we?”   
“Yeah just shout about homosexuality being a sin and that sort of thing,” Fintan nodded, “you could chant a bit, make a bit of a scene but not too much. It’s only for the Bishop’s benefit. We’ll all stop, look ashamed of ourselves, take our signs down, take our rainbow hats off and sheepishly head into the Church where you’ll meet us to give some crappy sermon about men not laying with men or some shite. Which is the point at which the Bishop and Archbishop will come running in to see what’s going on and you’ll look like you’ve single-handedly converted 15 gay people back to the ways of the Church.”   
“It’s such a beautifully crafted plan,” Ted said, taking in a huge excited breath, “there’s no way the Bishop can argue with that.”   
“Then next week at Rugged Island we’ll have some real fun!” Fintan’s eyes glinted, “we’ve got a big stage for all the musical acts, a proper fairground is coming, we’ve got fire-breathers, a whole team of drag queens, various charities supporting gay people, a brass band…”   
“Wow,” Dougal marvelled, “Cyril won’t know what’s going on.”   
“I’m just imagining Father Dick’s face when he sees it all,” Ted grinned, “there will be a great big party right outside his house and it will be the most spectacular downfall ever!” 

The Craggy Island Pride was a perfectly executed flop. Ted and Dougal set up camp by the traffic lights with their signs. Ted was encouraged when a few people shouted abuse at them for discriminating against LGBT people and mused on how much the world had progressed since he joined the priesthood. Perhaps coming out wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought as someone flicked him the V from the backseat of a passing car. Perhaps the rest of the world would be more understanding than he’d ever given it credit for.   
Dougal turned his sign around and refused to display it until the time was right. It was a warm day and he stood there in in his rolled-up shirt sleeves, his forearms lightly tanned, his curls of hair blowing in the gentle breeze. He looked almost casual, Ted thought. Take away the dog-collar and he would be like any other 26-year-old excited to make a difference to the world around him. He admired Dougal for his open-minded willingness to question the Church and promote what he thought was right. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from him, he thought.   
“There they are!” Dougal announced as a familiar blob of magenta appeared on the horizon, “there’s Len and his friend, there. Who is he again Ted?”   
“The Archbishop of Galway,” Ted said through gritted teeth, “a notorious homophobe. Ahh look they’re going into hiding behind the wall there, hoping we won’t see them watching us.”   
“Len’s hard to miss in that dress,” Dougal said, “it’s funny isn’t it? Len doesn’t like men who like to dress as women when all the while he goes around in a big pink dress of his own.”   
“Ha!” Ted laughed, “you’re right! I never thought of it like that before.”   
“Maybe he wears a big pair of frilly women’s knickers under it,” Dougal chortled, “and maybe a bra on Saturdays too.”   
They laughed together and Ted felt the thrill of being part of a team with Dougal. He found himself enjoying yet another unlikely situation in which they had to work together to fool the Bishop or get one over on Dick Bastard Byrne. This scheme, Ted thought, was so good it was almost, but not quite, totally Dougal-proof.   
As the Church clock chimed mid-day, the Pride parade began. It consisted of perhaps 20 people all dressed in their most outrageous clothing and all holding banners that demanded equal rights. They clapped and chanted as they marched, their voices an exaggerated caricature of a real Pride, while a few people kept the pace with drums and fiddles.   
“There’s Fintan!” Dougal said excitedly, “he’s wearing a huge rainbow flag like a big cape. Hey F…”   
“Dougal!” Ted hissed, “don’t shout hello right now. Not in front of the Bishop. We don’t want the Bishop knowing that we’re friends with Pride marchers now.”   
“Oh yeah,” Dougal said sheepishly, “sorry about that, Ted.”   
“Right, they’re close enough by to make a start. Pick your sign up,” Ted instructed.   
They lifted their signs and began jeering at the parade, Ted quoting the Bible on the topic of homosexuality and Dougal throwing in the odd ‘careful now’ to hide his ignorance of the scripture. As the paraders came level with the priests, an entertaining pantomime of banter was exchanged between them which drew the attention of the Bishop, Archbishop and the public alike.   
“Men shall not lie with men, for it is a sin,” Ted preached, “and marriage in the eyes of our Lord is between one man and one woman.”   
“What about women?” Rosheen shouted.   
“Jesus never married a woman,” someone shouted, “what if he was gay?”   
“Sin or not, I’d like to covet my neighbour’s arse,” Mitch laughed, and nudged Fintan.   
“Careful now,” Dougal peeped from behind his sign and then drew back, worried he might start laughing or say something that would betray the act, “down with your sort of thing, now.”   
“Come with me into the Church, my children, and I will explain all,” Ted made an exaggerated gesture towards the Church, as if directed traffic, “and you can make your peace with God. Ask him the answers to the questions you seek.”   
The banners slowly began to lower. Bishop Brennan, who was peeping over the top of the wall, opened his eyes wide as the parade did indeed begin to remove their flags and hats and colourful accessories.   
“Crilly!” he hissed.   
“He’s doing a mighty fine job,” the Archbishop smiled.   
“Don’t be too hasty, Your Grace,” Bishop Brennan advised nervously, “I know Crilly very well. He’s about as much use as a priest as an arse pocket in a vest. He’ll never get them to go into that Church.”   
Ted spent a further ten minutes persuading the parade marchers to hear him out. It wouldn’t do for the Pride to be over too quickly. He held his argument well as he was jeered and heckled. When the timing felt right, Fintan began to move in the direction of the Church and lead the marchers to follow.   
“I don’t believe it,” Bishop Brennan gasped.   
“Neither do I,” the Archbishop said excitedly, “not only has he stopped the whole parade but he’s lead several missing lambs back to God. What a true man of the cloth.”   
Bishop Brennan mouthed the words ‘true man of the cloth’ to himself as he began to process the horror of the situation unfolding before him. Ted had indeed just performed some sort of modern social miracle in full view of the Archbishop and the likely success of his plan to humiliate Ted and engineer his posting to another parish was diminishing by the second.   
“I really don’t believe it,” Bishop Brennan said, “let’s go and see what’s happening inside that Church.”   
He marched the elderly Archbishop angrily into the Church, where the sound of Ted giving an impromptu sermon on the Bible’s position on homosexuality was echoing around the knave. The parade marchers sat quietly in the pews, listening as if spellbound, while the little bollocks of a curate faffed around with a pile of hymn books like an overzealous school monitor. The Bishop and his senior sat at the back to listen and stared open-mouthed as Ted lead each and every member of the Craggy Island LGBT community onto their knees in prayer to God to forgive their sins.   
“This is astonishing,” Brennan whispered.   
“It certainly is,” the Archbishop agreed, “I don’t know about sending him to Serejavo, Len. With a talent for re-herding God’s children like that this priest should be considered for promotion!”


	19. Dick’s Dismay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day doesn’t start as planned for Father Dick Byrne.

When Father Dick Byrne woke on the morning of the Rugged Island fake Pride parade he buzzed with delighted anticipation. The day ahead abundantly full of promise. There were few things in life he took real pleasure from these days but getting one over on Ted Crilly had to be his favourite past-time. He was going to enjoy every minute of Ted’s humiliation. The Bishop had called him after the Craggy Island Pride parade to report, in a rather dry, hoarse sort of voice, that Ted had managed to close down the whole parade and lead the marchers into Church for an impromptu sermon. The Archbishop had been very impressed, apparently, but Dick wasn’t worried. With a team of priests waiting to follow his every instruction he would outdo Ted without much effort at all.  
He looked over at Cyril, still fast asleep beneath his Superman bedding after a heavy night of Fifteen to One dreams, and lit his first cigarette of the day. He liked Cyril, for all of his foibles. At least he was familiar and Dick could be reasonably certain of what outbursts of innate stupidity he could expect from him. He was less certain about Father Dougal McGuire and worried to a great extent about welcoming him into the Rugged Island Parochial House. Cyril wasn’t going to like that at all. Any newcomer to an established house would create havoc with the dynamics. And what about the Church collection money Dick was hiding in the safe under the carpet in the spare room? If Father McGuire got wind of that he’d never accept that Dick was just looking after it for a while. He’d be sure to tell the Bishop, and that would completely ruin his bid for promotion. Dick resolved to move the money into his bank account, where it could rest, until he could decide about what he was going to do with it all.  
“Cyril,” he launched a slipper at the younger priest’s head, “wake up, Cyril. The other priests will be here any minute.”  
A loud racket thundered past his bedroom window, causing every ornament in the room to rattle. Dick blew out a cloud of smoke and pulled back the curtain to look at the source of the noise. With irritation he saw it was a huge lorry pulling in to the field next-door.  
“Bloody farmers,” he muttered, “always starting work at silly o’clock in the morning. It’s…it’s only 9am for Christ’s sake. CYRIL! Are you up yet, lad?”  
If Dick hadn’t been so keen to yell at his sleeping curate he would have watched several men begin to unload a huge music stage and his confidence in the success of the day may have diminished considerably. By the time Dick had any time to consider the lorry again it would be too late to take his cue. A stream of priests had begun arriving at the Parochial House and Dick was absorbed into the task of welcoming them all. Father Paul Stone, Father Fintan Stack, Father Noel Furlong, Father Larry Duff, Father Todd Unctious to name but a few. They gathered in the common room while the house-keeper fussed around them, delighted to offer up her sacraments of tea and egg sandwiches.  
“Thank you all so much for coming to help me, Fathers,” Dick began his address by pulling his most charming face and took care to gently wring his hands, “it has been the most worrying time for me and Father Cyril since our revered Bishop Brennan gave us this particularly challenging job.”  
There were a few relatable groans. Every priest in the room knew what a bastard Brennan was. Some loved him, some loathed him, but everyone knew what a hard taskmaster he could be.  
“So we’ve all to pretend to be a bunch of homosexuals carrying on with a street party and you and Cyril are going to put a stop to it for the benefit of the Archbishop?” Father Larry asked.  
“Yes,” Dick nodded, “the Bishop is keen for the Archbishop to see what a tight ship we run on this tiny island parish.”  
“So there was never a real gay Pride in the first place?” Father Noel asked, “you know I went to a Pride once, before I joined the Seminary. We had a great time singing and dancing together. We had a karaoke contest and we didn’t leave the pub until quarter past eleven…and it was only a Friday! I sang that Village People song, how does it go now..oh yes…young man, if you’re short on your dough…”  
“Right so, Father,” Dick put a hasty end to Noel’s threat of a full performance of the song, “there was never a Pride on Rugged Island, but there was on Craggy Island.”  
“Ahh yes, I heard how Father Ted Crilly did a grand job of closing that parade down!” Father Todd announced, “he lead the whole parade into the Church for prayers. There’s talk of another Golden Cleric award in some circles, you know.”  
“Yes, well…” Dick winced, “the Archbishop needs to send either Crilly or me to some shite parish in Serejavo and close down one of the parishes. He was going to decide who to send after watching how we dealt with the Pride situations. Brennan’s set up a fake Pride here to make this look like the best parish of the two so he can give Crilly the old elbow. And that’s where you lot come in.”  
“That’s a set-up,” Father Austin Purcel said, “that doesn’t seem very Christian at all.”  
“Is Ted Crilly much of a Christian? We all know what that money was really doing in his account…the man deserves to be sent to a shite parish!” Dick said emphatically, “everything he touches turns to shite!”  
“Oh no I LIKE Ted!” Noel announced, “he’s a great guy to go on a caravanning holiday with. Did I tell you about the time we…”  
“I would rather lick Brennan’s boots with me own tongue than go caravanning with Crilly,” Dick said through gritted teeth, “anyway it’s not just about Crilly and that halfwit curate of his, which I’m set to inherit, for my sins. It’s about keeping Rugged Island parish and saving it from closure.”  
“I feel a bit bad for Ted there, Dick,” Austin said, “it doesn’t feel very fair on him at all.”  
“Yeah I can’t have any part in this,” Noel said indignantly, “Ted’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve to be screwed over by his friends.”  
“Friends?” Dick gulped, “but…I didn’t realise he had friends in the priesthood…I thought...”  
“Sure we’re his friends. And Father Dougal’s friends too,” Noel said, casting Dick a healthy dose of the stink-eye, “come on, Father Austin. Get your coat.”  
“Ay wait for me,” Father Damo said urgently.  
“Ahh now, wait a minute,” Dick pleaded, “Father Paul, you’ll stay and help me won’t you?”  
Dick appealed to the world’s most socially awkward priest with wide, pleading eyes, Father Paul Stone looked up at the others as they reached for their coats and then back at Dick’s pathetic desperate expression. He considered his position for just a few seconds but to Dick it felt like five full hours of excruciating suspense.  
“No, I’m fine,” Father Stone said eventually, and turned to pick up his own coat, “I stay with Ted on my holidays every year. He’s a friend of mine. I’ll be going, then.”  
“Ahh come on, lads, please,” Dick cried, “I’m desperate here! Father Stack?”  
“I lived with Crilly and his little bum-boy for a while,” Father Fintan Stack said slowly, “and I think the man is a complete fart in a trance. The little one is like a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest. They sleep together, you know. All curled up in their own little bedroom, feeling each other’s arses every night. They’ve been shagging each other two ways from Sunday for years. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t a big gay parade being set up outside right now and they’re both behind it. But I don’t care about any of that and I don’t care about helping you very much, Dick, because you’re a bit of a bender too. However I’m never one to miss out on spoiling someone else’s fun. I’m in, even if it’s just for the laughs.”


	20. Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted and Dougal pay a visit to Rugged Island

Dougal had begged and pleaded with Ted to let him go to the Rugged Island Pride every day for a full week. Ted had refused and remained absolute despite Dougal’s very best cocker spaniel impression, explaining that they simply couldn’t attend in case the Archbishop recognised them. Dougal had pouted and sulked, whining at Ted for hours on end, until finally he came up with the perfect reason for them both to go.   
“If the Archbishop sees us we can tell him we came to give Dick and Cyril moral support,” he said as they lay in bed the night before, “that will make us look like considerate and helpful colleagues, Ted. That can’t be a bad idea, now.”   
“Yes,” Ted nodded, picturing how selfless and altruistic such a move would appear, “yes I suppose you’re right!”   
“So can we go then, Ted? Can we, please?” Dougal begged.   
“Oh all right, all right,” Ted caved.   
He laughed as Dougal gave a whoop of joy and kissed his cheek with a childlike glee. That kiss had turned into another, and another, this one pressed slowly, suggestively, to Ted’s lips. He felt the smile in Ted’s kiss and let his lips linger longingly until Ted caved and opened his mouth for a fuller, deeper and passionately expressed kiss that continued as they fumbled wildly with each other’s pyjama tops. Dougal wondered why they even bothered wearing them anymore as they pressed their chests together, savouring the intimate warmth, before the lamp was switched off and hands began to explore.   
They had to get up early the next day to catch the boat across to Rugged Island. Mrs. Doyle almost dropped the tea-pot when they appeared for breakfast four hours earlier than usual and scuttled into the kitchen to make a hasty start on rustling up something to keep them going throughout their adventure. She fed them, watered them, straightened Dougal’s collar and lectured Ted about keeping him warm and not letting him get lost before waving them off as Ted drove to the ferry terminal.   
Back in the house, Father Jack woke with a start, opening just one milky eye.   
“Drink!” he yelled.   
“Coming, Father,” Mrs. Doyle chimed as she reached for the brandy.   
“Drink…and arse!” Jack mumbled. He felt behind his chair and threw a thick letter he’d received in the post that morning into Mrs. Doyle’s hand as she served the brandy, “papers.”   
Mrs. Doyle knitted her eyebrows curiously as she took the papers from the elderly father and cast her eye over them. Her bright and breezy smile fell as she read the words.   
“Oh no, Father!” she said, “where did you get these from?”   
“Father O’Connell, St. Clabbarts,” Jack shouted.   
“We’ve got to tell the others,” Mrs. Doyle fussed, “come on, I’ll get your coat and I’ll phone us a taxi.” 

Ted hated Rugged Island. There was absolutely nothing going for it. It was a volcanic turd erupting from the arsehole of Ireland as far as he was concerned and he looked over at the rolling empty fields of nothingness with disdain as he drove to Rugged Island’s equally depressing town centre.   
“Look Dougal,” he said, “they’ve only got a crappy little fish shop and a pub…and what does that convenience shop sell? Buckets, spades and inflatable toys all year long. Do they think it’s a seaside tourist resort or something?”   
“But all we’ve got on Craggy Island is a fish shop and a pub and John and Mary sell buckets and spades,” Dougal pointed out.   
Ted gave him the side-eye as he pulled into a parking space in the little village centre. He could sense that the town was abuzz already. The ferry had been busy that morning and there were cars parked everywhere. Groups of people milled around in colourful, loud clothing. He could hear the sounds of fiddles and drums being warmed up for play. A few six-foot flags nodded in the breeze.   
“Look there’s the fire-breathers!” Dougal yelled as a team of people in foil costumes walked by with fire torches.   
“I think you mean fire-eaters, Dougal,” Ted said in amusement.   
They got out of the car and made a show of casually wandering towards the top field where Fintan had planned to set up the base. In it they found rows of stalls selling everything from rainbow flags to candyfloss. A huge music stage had been set up at the end of the field and a team of technicians were connecting up the speakers and other electrical equipment. The rides from Funland had been set up and Dougal laughed at the flying chair, asking Ted if he remembered the time he jumped off it.   
“Yes I’ve still got the trapped nerve to show for it,” Ted said with disdain.   
“Maybe we’ll get our fortunes read again,” Dougal said, “by that old girl in the tent there.”   
“Or maybe we’ll save our money,” Ted suggested hopefully.   
“Look at that stage there, Ted,” Dougal marvelled, “Fintan said Louis has got loads of famous bands to play today. And look at all the people turning up!”   
As they got closer to the field there were throngs of visitors. The event had done more wonders for Rugged Island’s tourist industry than 100 years of effort from the Tourist Board, and Ted could see why. Some clever branded advertising had obviously taken place on the mainland and kept hidden from the island, until today, when snazzy, glossy posters screamed ‘Island of Pride 1999’.   
“Dougal I don’t think this is just a little parade,” he grinned, “Louis and his team have turned the entire island into a great big festival. Oh I can’t wait to see Dick’s face!”   
They caught up with Louis, Fintan, Mitch and Rosheen who stood beside a stall advertising a charity which supported young LGBT people. Mitch was folding leaflets while Fintan was directing a gaggle of Drag Queens dressed head to toe in sequins and high heels to the beer tent.   
“Hello Fathers!” Louis beamed. He threw out an arm, “what do you think? Is it big enough for you?”  
“Godalmighty Louis this is huge!” Ted laughed. They shook hands and then hugged, “I never expected it to be a whole festival, now.”  
“I told you we’d look after you,” Louis winked, “we’ve got Westlife playing up there on the big stage later on. We’re expecting 5,000 people and we only started advertising on the mainland about a month ago. I’m thinking of turning this into an annual Pride. Do you think Bishop Brennan will approve?”  
“Oh he’ll hate this!” Dougal laughed, “I can’t wait to see his face. It’ll be worse than when Ted kicked him up the arse.”


	21. A Surprise for Ted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never saw this one coming!

Father Stack looked a holy show as he stood in Dick’s lounge modelling his tight sleeveless t-shirt and leather shorts. He wore Dr. Marten boots over long socks and a rainbow sash over his sizeable belly. His eyes blinked behind shutter sunglasses. He looked every inch the keen gay Bear.   
“You look great!” Dick said enthusiastically. Seeing Father Stack’s thin-lipped expression, “I mean, you look the part, anyway. We’re going to struggle with only one Pride parader but we’ll just have to give it our best shot. We’ll tell the Archbishop we put loads of work into slamming the Pride before it started and successfully put people off. I can cook the books at the Church to make it look like we had more attendees. We’ll be ok. Cyril? Are you ready?”   
“Yes, Dick,” Cyril appeared in the doorway with a home-made sign that read ‘No Gays in the Bible.’ It was a poor show, Dick thought, but nothing more than the Bishop would expect from him.   
“Come on then, lets unleash this beast!” he snorted as he pointed at Father Stack, “you creep out the back, there, Father Stack, and we’ll meet you out front by the post-box to shout at you.”   
Father Stack said nothing. He wasn’t regretting his decision to dress up as a gay Bear and actually rather admired himself in the get-up, but he wasn’t about to help Dick feel any less guilty about asking him to do it. He was enjoying the Father’s desperate gratitude.   
“Right then, Cyril, lets go and get into position,” Dick said, taking up his own sign and opening the front door to the Parochial House.   
And what a sight it was that met him. The street outside was thronged with people. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, were packed into every available space and making their way towards the Field. Fire-eaters on stilts performed on the street corners, a fiddle band was playing a merry Irish jig to the beat of several drums, there were rainbow flags and pro-Gay signs galore. Dick closed his eyes, shook his head, and blinked again.   
“Ha!” Ted laughed as he and Dougal watched from across the road, “there he is now, he’s just walked out and spotted what’s going on. He looks like he just shit in his pants ha!”   
“And look at Cyril,” Dougal grinned, “yep, he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. Just like I told you, Ted.”   
Ted scanned the crowd. Somewhere in amongst it all would be Bishop Brennan and the Archbishop come to survey Dick’s performance. There were so many people Ted couldn’t even begin to look for them.   
“Come on Dougal, let’s go and offer Father Dick our condolences,” Ted said, “I mean uh…our support in this matter.”   
The two priests sniggered with laughter as they snaked between the throngs of people towards Dick’s house. In the distance, a loud boom signalled the start of a band’s set on the main stage. The unmistakable din of an average boy-band began to ricochet off the sides of every building in the town. Dougal looked up, tempted by the sheer campness of it all, until Ted pulled him along.   
“Dick!” he waved as they reached Dick’s garden wall. He had to shout above the noise, “quite the crowd you’ve pulled in!”   
“I don’t believe it!!” Dick frowned, “where did this lot come from?”  
“It’s the Rugged Island Pride Parade,” Ted beamed, “had you forgotten?”   
“No I hadn’t forgotten, it just wasn’t supposed to…” Dick stopped himself, “I just didn’t expect this sort of crowd.”   
“Well we’ve come to lend you our support,” Ted smiled a little too widely and Dick’s eyes flashed with suspicion, “we’ve even brought the signs from our Parade.”   
Dougal held his sign up and raised his eyebrows at Cyril, who stared, completely unfazed.   
“It’s a brilliant Pride parade isn’t it, Dick?” Cyril asked. Dick motioned to clip him around the ear and he ducked just in time.   
“Godalmighty Cyril,” he yelled, “what are we going to do? The Bishop is going to go mad when he sees all this.”  
“I’m guessing someone didn’t do their homework,” Ted grinned, “never mind, Dick. We’re here to help!”  
“BYRNE!” the unmistakable bark of a certain Bishop could be heard above the lively chatter and music. Dick swung around and spotted Brennan and the doddering Archbishop fighting their way through the crowds, “BYRNE! Just what the hell is going on here?”  
“Bishop Brennan!” Dick jumped a few inches in the air and slapped his hands together in an expression he hoped exuded confidence but betrayed his desperation which was now reaching critical levels, “and his Grace the Archbishop.”  
All four priests bowed their heads politely.   
“Byrne…I thought I told you to calm this crap down,” Brennan snapped, “look at it! It’s gone from few people waving flags to the 100th Anniversary of the Mardi Gras!!”  
“Well, it’s er…” Dick scrambled around inside his own brain, trying to think of an explanation, “I mean…”  
“Oh never mind,” Brennan waved a dismissive hand at Dick’s blundering and turned an angry face to Ted, “Crilly! What are you doing here?”  
“Father Dougal and I thought we’d come and lend our support,” Ted said proudly, “and by God it looks like he needs it.”  
“A very thoughtful thing to do for a brother in Christ,” the Archbishop smiled, “I do say, Brennan, I’m finding this priest’s approach very satisfactory indeed.”  
“Oh you’ve seen nothing,” Brennan spluttered, “so Byrne how do you plan to protest this…this…circus?”  
Dick and Cyril looked sheepishly at their hastily prepared signs and then back at the Bishop whose eyes widened in disbelief. Just as the Bishop was about to lambast their poor efforts when the passing crowd vomited an utterly confused Father Fintan Stack towards them. The Bear outfit wasn’t enough to fool the Archbishop, who would recognise Father Stack’s enormous belly and goatee beard anywhere.  
“Is that Father Stack?” the Archbishop asked as he squinted at the holy show in front of them, “it is! I recognise him from his last conduct hearing when we had to discipline him for setting up a picnic in the doorway of the Cistern Chapel! Why in God’s name is he dressed like that? Anyone would think he was supporting this travesty!! I say, Byrne, I’m not terribly impressed by your efforts to quell the parade on this island. You’ve obviously done no prior planning or research at all. A couple of home-made signs is not going to spread the word of God effectively, especially when you’ve got one of your own Brothers in Christ gyrating around in a pair of leather shorts and long socks!!”  
Brennan squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the top of his nose with his fingers as the Archbishop marched across to the genuinely perplexed Father Stack and threw his cape over him to protect his modesty. He began frog-marching him towards the Parochial House and called for Brennan to help him.   
Ted and Dougal stifled giggles as Brennan, ordinarily the terrifying authoritarian, scuttled off after his senior like a harried minion. It was quite the sight, Ted thought, and he enjoyed every karmic second of Brennan’s palpable discomfort.   
“Well Dick I hate to say it but I think this is one competition you won’t win,” he summarised as he confidently folded his arms and gave Dick a cheeky sideways glance, “what’ll the forfeit be, Dougal?”  
“Oh!” Dougal laughed as he considered the enormity of the question, “now that will take some serious consideration Ted. He did make you kick the Bishop up the arse after all.”  
“How about we make him kick the Archbishop up the arse?” Ted asked.   
“Or even the Pope, Ted!” Dougal suggested.   
They laughed heartily as Dick stared at them in silent hatred. Basking in the predicted glory of a confident win felt wonderful. Ted wished the moment had a rewind and pause button so he could relive it over and over again. He took Dougal’s arm collusively.  
“Come on, Father Dougal,” he said, “we can decide on an appropriate forfeit while we’re out there waving our signs about.”

As soon as they were out of view Ted and Dougal threw their offensive signs over a garden wall and allowed themselves to get lost in the anonymity of the crowd. They watched a few songs performed on the big stage, Ted bought Dougal some candyfloss and, confident that the Bishop was otherwise engaged and wouldn’t see, they risked a turn on the Chair of Death for old times’ sake. They gripped the rickety garden seat for dear life as it rose high into the air and allowed them to admire view below them.   
“Look Dougal, Rugged Island is a sea of rainbows,” Ted laughed. Still revelling in his one-upmanship over Dick he rubbed his hands together with delight, “It’s amazing isn’t it?”  
“It’s beautiful Ted,” Dougal smiled. His thoughts were elsewhere, “all those people there. They’re either in a gay relationship or supportive of them. And I think that’s the most amazing thing of all.”  
Ted’s huge smile shrunk a little as he looked up at Dougal, once again surprised by his pure, innocent perspective. Of course, Ted thought, he was right. The most amazing thing was how much the world had progressed. How many people could enjoy same-sex relationships without fear of judgement or persecution. In comparison, getting one over on Dick didn’t seem to matter that much at all. He reached across the bench and tenderly stroked Dougal’s hand with his little finger.   
Dougal looked down at the finger in surprise and then back at Ted, a wisp of candyfloss stuck to his lower lip. Ted never allowed them to show affection in public and was always reminding Dougal not to hold his hand or link his arm. To stroke his hand like this, albeit on a ride high in the air where no-one could see, was poignant. Dougal responded by wrapping his own little finger around Ted’s and smiled when Ted took hold of his whole hand and squeezed it.  
“I love you, Dougal,” he said, “and I wish I could shout to all those people down there and tell them all about it.”  
“If we left the priesthood you could,” Dougal said quietly. He looked at Ted hopefully, searching his eyes for a hint that Ted would cave, throw caution to the wind and agree to leave the Church behind. But as the Chair of Death began to descend back into the crowd, Ted dropped Dougal’s hand again and Dougal felt the sting of rejection.

At the bottom of the ride the two priests were confronted with a wasted Father Jack being pushed in his chair by a frantic Mrs. Doyle who shrieked their names above the din. She was waving a white envelope to catch their attention.  
“Mrs. Doyle!” Ted said companionably, “how lovely of you to come and…”  
“Father, oh Father I came as quickly as I could!” Mrs. Doyle wheezed to catch her breath and thrust the envelope at Ted’s chest, “something terrible has happened. Bishop Brennan has sold the Parochial House!!”  
“What?!” Ted and Dougal said in unison. Ted began to tear into the envelope.  
“Father Jack overheard some priests talking at the Over-75s convention about Bishop Brennan having to answer some questions about a house sale he made on behalf of the diocese because there was a discrepancy in the accounts,” Mrs. Doyle said, “so he listened in and heard that it was the Craggy Island Parochial House. Luckily Father Jack had some friendly contacts at the conference who were able to pull some strings at the Bishop’s palace and get these photocopies of the deeds sent out to us.”  
Ted felt his heart rise into his mouth as he looked down at the fan of paperwork in his hands. Each page was headed with the details of a solicitor’s firm in Galway and referenced the address of the Parochial House. He read how the house had been sold to an anonymous buyer six weeks earlier and felt the world begin to spin. He steadied himself and looked up at Dougal, who was pawing at his arm.  
“Is that right, Ted?” Dougal asked, staring up at him in wide-eyed hope of a terrible mistake, “have they sold our house?”  
“Yes,” Ted croaked, “and according to this the transfer of ownership date is in two weeks. Aww for feck’s sake. Even though we’ve clearly kicked arse at winning this ridiculous Pride challenge it looks like I’ll be going to Serejavo anyway because the Bishop’s made sure there’s nowhere for us to live. The bastard!!”  
Ted was about to reach his arms out to his lover in search of a comforting cuddle when Brennan and the Archbishop emerged from the crowd and seemed to be walking towards them. Ted hurriedly but the paperwork back in the envelope and handed it back to Mrs. Doyle as the pair, clad in their capes and gingerly picking through the grass in their expensive shoes, approached them.  
“Your Grace,” he said to the Archbishop. He couldn’t hide his contempt for Brennan and simply looked through him.  
“Ahh Father Crilly, I am glad to have found you,” the Archbishop smiled, “I wanted to tell you how pleased I am with your performance. You did a stellar job of closing down the Pride on Craggy Island and I thought it was most Christian of you to be here to support Father Byrne and Father McDuff today. I noted their presence was lacking during the Craggy Island parade. And as for this abomination of an event today…well I’m afraid it’s mushroomed into something over which the Church has no hope of trying to tackle. Father Byrne has really let us down.”  
“Oh,” Ted said neutrally. He cast Brennan a dark look, “I’m sorry to hear that Father Byrne has been a disappointment to you, you Grace. But I’ve no doubt that despite his short-comings you’re here to tell me you’re packing me off to Serejavo. I’ll get my coat.”  
“You’re ahead of yourself, Father Crilly,” the Archbishop laughed, “I’m getting on a bit now, I’m in the autumn days of my life. Bishop Brennan here has accepted a promotion and will be replacing me when I retire at the end of next month. Now, here’s where you come in, Father. we’ve no choice but to merge the parishes Craggy and Rugged Islands. The Diocese just can’t afford to keep them both running. The choice I had to make was who to keep and who to send to a new parish. Having observed Father Byrne I think he still has a lot to learn about how to be an effective and inspiring cleric. I’ve decided to keep him on Rugged Island.”  
Ted opened his arms out in a ‘I knew it!’ gesture and shook his head. He cast a watery eye over the crowds, breathed in the liveliness of the Pride festival his efforts had inspired, and felt a stab of anger at the injustice. He couldn’t allow himself to begin anticipating the pain of being separated from Dougal. That was a trauma he’d have to parcel up in a box and place in a corner of his heart where he could keep it safe until he could take it out and feel it later.  
“So Serejavo then,” Ted said flatly.  
“Actually, Father Crilly, I wondered if you’d ever considered becoming a Bishop,” the Archbishop said.


	22. A Surprise for Dougal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted perhaps isn't such a dithering eejit after all.

“A bishop?” Ted spluttered.

He looked at Brennan, who wore the expression of a man who’d had an unfortunate accident with a traffic cone and doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact. He sucked in his cheeks and raised his eyes to the sky as he tried to quell the panicked rage in the pit of his belly.

Dougal looked at the ground. There was no way Ted would turn down a wonderful opportunity to bask in the dizzying heights of such clerical glory. He would jump at the chance to move to the Bishop’s luxurious mansion and lord his authority over the other priests who would treat him with admiring respect. The business of the money just resting in his account was forgiven, so it seemed, and Dougal knew in that moment that their relationship, as passionate, intense and brief it had been, was now over.

“Wow, congratulations Ted,” he managed a smile, “that’s wonderful news for you.”

Ted looked at Dougal, the crestfallen knit between his eyebrows and the way his bottom lip quivered as he tried to feign a thrilled expression. He cast his eyes over the crowd and the joy in the faces of all the people who had rolled up to celebrate the Pride. And then he looked at the Archbishop.

“Ha! Bishop? No I’ve never thought about becoming a Bishop,” Ted said honestly. He stroked his chin pensively, “I’m just going to take a few minutes to think about my answer. That all right with you, Len?”

Brennan almost exploded with rage, his face almost as crimson as his cassock. 

Without waiting to hear the Archbishop’s response, Ted took Dougal’s arm and began walking away. Mrs. Doyle, Brennan and the Archbishop watched him go in a bewildered surprise. Where was his explosive delight, his self-congratulating acceptance? Where was the Ted who bored half of Ireland’s clergy to death with his memoirs of priesthood at the Golden Cleric Awards the previous year? Why wasn’t he leaping around and shouting like a mad eejit?

“Where are we going Ted?” Dougal asked as Ted frog-marched him across the field, “you just called Len Len. You’re going to be in a world of trouble for that.”

“Dougal,” Ted smiled as they approached the stairs to the main stage where a manufactured teenage boy heart-throb was crooning to the crowd, “I don’t care. Up you go.”

“Up on the stage? We can’t, Ted, someone is singing, and all those people…”

“Dougal, just go!!” Ted commanded.

He pushed Dougal towards the stairs and silenced his protests by simply grabbing his coat and forcing him up each step. Louis, who had been discussing the next act with the stage manager, saw them coming. With a sleek nod of his head told the burly security guard to let them pass.

“Hello boys,” he said, meeting them stage-left.

“Do you mind I address the crowd, Louis?” I’ve something important to say,” Ted said.

“Of course,” Louis nodded.

Dougal crept onto the stage nervously looked out over the crowd, the waves of arms swaying to the music, the rainbows flapping in the breeze, the collective atmosphere of free love happiness. He felt a bit self-conscious stood so high up front of so many people. He spotted Fintan, Mitch and Rosheen in the crowd. They were waving and giving him the thumbs up, which he shyly returned. Then he spotted a few more familiar faces. Was that Father Noel Furlong dramatically singing along to the music with his arms in the air? And was that Father Larry Duff about to take a bite of candyfloss and accidentally ingest a wasp that had landed on it? And that was definitely Father Paul Stone stood among some drag queens with his hands in his pockets? Mrs. Doyle, Father Jack, Brennan and the Archbishop stood watching and waiting with baited breath, equally as confused as Dougal about what Ted planned to do next.

“Ted what are you doing?” Dougal asked urgently, “all of our friends and brothers in Christ – in fact everyone we know - is out there!”

“I know,” Ted said calmly. 

The insufferable teenage crooning came to an end. The cheers from the crowd were so loud Dougal worried that the force of them would blast him off the stage. Louis took the microphone and addressed the hoards of onlookers.

“And thank you for that world-class performance from my latest new vocal artist, Tom Brophy. His latest album is due out next week,” Louis announced, “now if you wouldn’t mind, Father Ted Crilly of Craggy Island has something he’d like to say.”

Dougal clasped his hands together as Ted stride forward and took the microphone. The crowd didn’t know whether to boo or cheer at the sight of a priest taking centre stage at a Pride gig. A confused mumble rippled from the sea of waiting faces. Ted was non-plussed. He seemed confident as he unhooked the microphone from its stand and cleared his throat.

“Hello everyone,” he said, “just five minutes of your time. I just wanted to thank Louis Walsh and the fabulous Craggy Island LGBT forum for organising this spectacular event. Yes, that’s right. All of this was supposed to happen on our neighbouring island, but due to the Catholic Church trying to exploit the meaning of Pride to engineer my posting to Serejavo, the parish of Craggy Island had to work in partnership with the LGBT forum to ensure that didn’t happen. And what a wonderful Pride it is as a result! It’s so spectacular that I’m not to be posted to Serejavo after all. In fact, his Grace the Archbishop has just asked me if I’d consider becoming a Bishop.”

The crowd mumbled its confusion again. Dougal felt a throbbing pain in the space above his stomach. It pulsed like an infection, ached like a bruise, stung like a sore and and burned like the colour red. He put his hand to it, hoping to calm it, knowing instinctively his heart was breaking. Every muscle of his emotional being was twisting and pulling itself in two, each half connected only by desperate tendrils of denial and disbelief. Ted was about to accept his promotion to Bishop in the most public way possible - a helpless show-off he’d find the temptation of a great big stage and a crowd of thousands far too hard to resist. He was about to announce it to the world, and Dougal knew that it would hurt like hell as he was forced to simply stand by and watch him choose the ivory towers of the high Church over their quiet, unassuming love.

“Well I’ve taken some time to think about becoming a Bishop. It’s really quite the most unexpected job offer because I can barely manage being a priest,” Ted laughed, “Godalmighty, it’s a real struggle to remember how to say a Mass. Everything I touch turns to shite. I lie, cheat and offend people all the time. I’m a racist, if you didn’t know already. Sure I’m only here on Craggy Island because of some money that was just resting in my account but the truth is I’m in exile, in disgrace, serving my penitence on that godforsaken island. My good man, Bishop Len Brennan, is at his wits end with me! So do I think I’d make a good Bishop? Do I bollocks!!”

Dougal’s head snapped up. The crowd erupted with laughter. Louis Walsh’s eyes were glimmering with hope. Dougal felt the softest tickle of butterfly wings flap in his belly. 

“I would rather shack up with Chris the Sheep and live in a barn eating straw for the rest of my life than become a Bishop, tied to the archaic rituals of the Catholic Church, denouncing same-sex relationships and oppressing people because of some stories some mad eejits from Egypt wrote centuries ago. I would rather spend the rest of my life listening to Father Noel Furlong sing at the top of his lungs than spend one minute longer under the tyrannical rule of old Len Brennan, who is the meanest, cruellest most unChristian bastard I know. He’s more morally corrupt than I am, he has no business being a Bishop. He’s got a son in America from an affair he had with a woman and he’s just sold the Craggy Island Parochial House and pocketed £40,000 of the profits for himself. He’s stolen from the Church and made three priests and a housekeeper homeless.  
Here's some home truths, Len. Yes I DID kick you up the arse. And I relive that moment over and over again because it brings me such pleasure to remember how good it felt when my right foot connected to your left buttock. God it was good. And I have more news! No that money was NOT just resting in my account. I stole it. I stole every penny and I went to Las Vegas and I blew it all on booze and Roulette. And that was great as well because the first time in my life I felt alive.”

The crowd continued to laugh. Mitch, Fintan and Rosheen were whooping with delight, the priests were gazing with a renewed respect for Ted’s brutal honesty and Brennan stared, speechless, wide-eyed and humiliated, while the Archbishop cast him a ‘we need to talk about the son’ look. 

“And I have some home truths for everyone else too. I am hopelessly in love with this remarkable individual,” Ted reached out an arm towards Dougal, who blushed so hard his face burned hotter than a patio heater, “Father Dougal McGuire might be a rather eccentric simpleton at times but his soul is the essence of purity and his innocence has silenced me, stilled me into learning lessons about love that I was too arrogant to know I needed to learn before he came into my life. But how can I be a priest and love a man at the same time? I've been over and over it but the truth is...I can't.”

“Ted,” Dougal whispered, “wh…what are you doing, Ted?”

“I’m making a choice, Dougal,” Ted said, “I’m finally going to choose between you and the Church.”

Dougal watched Ted’s hand reach to his collar. His fingers slowly curled around it. They caught each other’s gaze - a bright gaze that was so euphorically uplifting they both felt they could soar like eagles – and then Ted pulled his collar off as if ripping off a plaster and tossed it into the roaring crowd. It flew through the air, turning somersaults like a frisbee, the tension as palpable as slow-motion footage of a football careering towards the back of the net. There was silence and then a deafening eruption of cheers as a wave of people in the crowd simultaneously leapt up to catch it. 

“Godalmighty,” Dougal whispered. 

Ted approached him, wearing the most genuine smile Dougal had ever seen, and dropped to one knee.

“Dougal McGuire,” he said, “will you marry me?”

Dougal smiled bashfully and bit his lip. Ted looked funny there, kneeling down like that, wearing that enormous smile. He giggled and with no further ado, he tore his own collar from his neck and tossed it to the waiting crowd.

"Yes, Ted Crilly, I will," he said.

And the crowd went absolutely wild.


	23. And They All Lived Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

Six months later the silhouettes of four people cast shadows in morning sun as it spilled onto the wet cobbles of an unfamiliar street after a night of heavy rain. A tall bloke with greying hair, a younger lad with eyes as beautiful as gems, a middle-aged woman with her hair pinned up and an elderly man in a wheelchair made their way through the strange, twisting, turning streets of Liverpool. 

“Do I have to wear this stupid hat in public? Can I not just put it on when we get there?” the younger lad complained. He gestured to the top-hat he had perched on top of his head. It flattened his waves of auburn hair to his forehead and although it was somewhat ridiculous, Ted thought Dougal rather suited it.

“Dougal, it’s for Mrs. Doyle,” Ted whispered under his breath, “just…suck it up or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“My underpants keep going up my arse in these trousers,” Dougal whinged. He performed a curious penguin shuffle in the hope of releasing them, “and this cravat thing is making me feel like I’m being strangled, Ted!”

“It’s no tighter than the dog-collars used to be,” Ted pointed out, “you’ve just got used to wearing open-necked shirts, that’s all. You look great.”

“Do I, Ted?” Dougal brightened.

“You look gorgeous,” Ted assured him.

“So do you,” Dougal returned the compliment and looked up to admire how handsome Ted looked in a full morning suit of charcoal grey, a champagne-coloured waistcoat and a gold cravat. 

“I’m proud of you,” Ted whispered. He held out a hand, gloved in grey formal gloves on Mrs. Doyle’s insistence, and took hold of Dougal’s similarly gloved fingers. He felt the younger man beam with pride and smiled to himself. Today was going to be the best day of his life.

“Are we nearly there yet, Mrs. Doyle?” Dougal asked, “we’ve been walking for ages. Are we lost? I don’t think Jack can read that street map properly.”

“It’s right around this corner,” Mrs. Doyle said confidently. She had tottered for miles in a pair of hot pink sling-backs worn to match her floral dress and fascinator and managed to push Jack with hardly any effort at all, “almost there.”

To all of their relief the Liverpool Register Office was indeed in the next street. It was inside St. George’s Hall, a huge imposing building which presented itself with a line of rather grand-looking pillars. They had travelled to England on the overnight ferry and stayed over in a 5* hotel at Louis Walsh’s insistence. Dougal had never known such luxury. The bed was soft enough to get lost in, the towels as thick as velvet. He marvelled at the little soaps in the bathroom and the chocolates he and Ted had found on their pillows. He’d wanted to know if the hotels in Las Vegas were as grand as this, and ran around the room in the complimentary bathrobe just because. 

Their wedding had been booked at the Register Office some months before and Ted, anticipating attitude from the woman who taking the booking, had been surprised by how unfazed she had been that the union would be between two men. In fact, she didn’t comment on it at all. He and Dougal had an anxious few months to wait before their big day and Ted was so excited there were times he wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself. But now here they were. Their moment had arrived.   
In the foyer of the Register Office were their wedding guests. Ted hadn’t anticipated that many people would want to come to their wedding and didn’t actually send out any invitations. He’d been astonished when people began to contact him to ask when their big day would be. He’d been overwhelmed by the amount of people who wrote and called him to wish them well. Fintan, Mitch and Rosheen greeted them at the door as they walked in. Louis Walsh was hanging around somewhere. Even Father Noel, Father Paul, Father Larry were there, dressed in non-Priest attire of course, to bear witness to the union of two ex-priests. 

Their de-frocking had not been a pleasant experience. It had taken place in a rather humiliating ceremony and preceded by the Archbishop, who had been less than impressed with Ted’s public announcement on the day of the Pride. A sheepish Father Len Brennan, recently demoted and clad entirely in black, had tried to keep a low profile. Ted was glad to be stripped of his cassock and his rights to perform as a clergyman. Dougal had laughed out loud as his cassock was removed, shouting that it tickled, and couldn’t have given any less of damn as he cast out of the Church. Sure he never believed in the Bible anyway. Jack was not in disgrace but he agreed to hand over his robes on the basis of his age, which he did without fuss because he had long since lost all interest in religion. So long as there were people to look after him and a consistent source of drink, he didn’t care whether he was a priest or not. One short ceremony and then it was all over. They were no longer priests. They were but laymen.

They had to move out of the Parochial House, of course. Ted used his last month’s wages to rent a little 3-bedroom cottage on the East side of the island. It wasn’t as big as the Parochial House and they struggled with Jack’s wheelchair but they created a little system to make it work. Mrs. Doyle battled with the challenges of getting used to a new kitchen. Dougal searched every nook and cranny for evidence of hidden treasure. Ted just relaxed, for the first time in his adult life, at this new and curious sense of freedom that filled his heart with peace. The biggest change in their first tentative months free of the priesthood, however, was Dougal’s ease with the world around him. No longer bound by a confusing doctrine he didn’t believe in he was free to explore and make sense of his adult life at his own pace. Ted and Mrs. Doyle marvelled at his growing confidence. It began with Dougal’s changing fashion. He clung to the familiarity of his shirts and tank tops for a while, though he exchanged his dog-collar shirts for blue and navy standard types. As the summer grew closer he began to leave the tank tops in the wardrobe and his top button open. The triangle of exposed flesh that had previously been hidden by his dog collar was an endless source of fascination for Ted, who would gaze at it while musing not only on how exciting it was to see Dougal looking so casual but also at the significance of the change it represented. Ted took to kissing the spot where Dougal’s dog-collar had once been and the younger man would giggle softly, wondering what Ted loved so much about his neck anyway. He didn’t mind. Ted’s kisses felt good. They made his skin tingle and his loins burn. He would return the kisses eagerly, as if quenching a thirst, and sometimes Ted would begin to bite and suckle at the flesh beneath his ear which made his lad stand up on end.

After a shopping trip with Mitch and Fintan Dougal returned home one day with a few new items to add to his wardrobe. A pair of jeans, a red checked shirt, a couple of tight-fitting t-shirts. 

“Nothing fancy,” he explained to Ted as he emptied his shopping bag on the kitchen table, “I know I’m gay and stuff but I didn’t think I’d suit some of the stuff even straight men can wear. Like trousers that show off your lad and things like that. Maybe I’m still too much of a priest for that kind of thing Ted. But this shirt is nice, I can wear it over a t-shirt. See?”

As he put on a fashion show Ted noticed how long his hair was getting. Curls nestled at the nape of his neck and dark blonde waves tumbled over his left eye. In his casual new clothes and without a sensible haircut Dougal was beginning to give off a fresh but relaxed indie vibe that Ted found absolutely irresistible. Before the evening was up those new jeans were bunched at Dougal’s knees as he bent over the bed for a hungry Ted to a hasty, desperate love to him.

The couple set up camp in the master bedroom and their very own king-size bed. No more uncomfortable gaps in the mattress for these two! Mrs. Doyle’s gift of new sheets and a duvet cover was a welcome luxury as they slid into bed together each night free of the battle to feel close to each other while sleeping under separate sheets. During those long and lazy morning cuddles, Ted felt the tight springs of anxiety within his husband’s body begin to relax with each passing day. What lay behind them was so much more of the naive but kind and pure soul Ted found so awe-inspiringly beautiful that he held Dougal in a new and admiring reverence. Dougal’s contentedness was almost angelic.

Ted’s only anxiety in those early post-priest days was how they were going to support themselves financially. Mrs. Doyle found part-time work in a café making tea, which she absolutely loved, so she was ok. Jack was retired and on a pension so he had nothing to worry about. Dougal had lobbied the Craggy Island Creamery to get his job as a milkman back and had been thrilled to come home on his first pay-day with a little brown envelope full of money he’d earned. His pride had been tangible and Ted was heart-warmed by it. All Ted could manage to find was a few hours of taxi-driving here and there. Happy though they were, their wages in these part-time jobs wasn’t going to sustain them forever. Ted had to think of something before their savings dwindled to nothing. 

But he wouldn’t worry about it today, Ted thought as he ascended the steps to the register office and began the business of shaking hands and thanking people for coming. Dougal went all shy as he forgot people’s names and had to be reminded.  
“You remember Bishop O’Neill!” Ted said as Dougal stared at the long-haired hippy who was assertively shaking his hand, “he came with Bishop Facks and Bishop Jordan? No?”

Dougal shook his head.

“To raise the Stone to a Class II relic?” 

Dougal shook his head.

“You convinced him the Bible was all a load of bollocks?”

Dougal shook his head.

“And he took off to India in a VW campervan with a guitar and a reefer?”

Dougal shook his head.

“It was the night you wanted to watch Aliens.”

“Oh yes!” Dougal gasped, “yes I remember now. I still think we should have watched Aliens Ted. Bishops do love that kind of stuff.”

“Oh congratulations, Fathers,” the ex-Bishop O’Neill grinned, “I was so pleased to hear your news. I’m so happy for you. And the story of how you socked it to Brennan on the big stage at the Pride event reached me in Cambodia. You are the stuff of legends, Ted, the stuff of legends!”

“Thank you,” Ted laughed. He was rather proud of the story himself, truth be told. He certainly didn’t have any regrets.

“The wedding of Mr. Ted Crilly and Mr. Dougal McGuire, please,” an official-looking woman opened a door and called out in the echoing hallway, “this way.”

Ted knew the marriage vows inside out, of course. He didn’t need to have them said before him but he patiently waited his turn to speak. Dougal struggled and was glad of the prompting. He’d been worried that an English wedding ceremony would have big words that he couldn’t say, but in the end it was fine. He was able to recite them while looking Ted in the eye and meaning every word. They exchanged simple titanium wedding rings, slim, unassuming bands of silver that represented their love for each other. Ted had struggled to fit Dougal’s ring over his knuckle but Dougal managed to slide Ted’s on without much effort at all. They admired their new rings as they held hands and made them glint in the sunlight, waiting anxiously for their marriage to be confirmed.  
“I now pronounce you husband and husband,” the celebrant announced and a roar of cheers filled the hall as the newly married couple kissed in public for the first time. 

They left the register office in a cloud of confetti. Dougal squeezed at Ted’s hand as bits of coloured paper rained into his face and got caught in his hair. Ted laughed as he looked up to admire the explosion of colour and squeezed back the little hand that had become so familiar inside his own. Married, he thought, I’ve married Dougal McGuire. 

Their reception was a small affair at a private bar belonging to someone Louis knew and the media mogul had spared no expense. The wedding party dined on the freshest salmon and drank the finest champagne. Cards, telegrams and good wishes were read out, speeches were given, memories exchanged, funny stories told, laughs had. Ted half-listened and half-stared at Dougal’s beauty, barely able to believe such a handsome and loving man was his husband. He felt Dougal doing the same, catching little admiring glances of how dashing Ted looked in his smart morning suit. Both of them knew the other appreciated their wedding reception, but they also knew the other was keen to go back to their hotel room, close the door and absorb their newly married status in the inner sanctum of their own private company. 

“A wedding gift for you,” Louis announced after the speeches ended and the DJ began drawing people to the dancefloor. He put his hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out a small gold box topped with an organza bow, “I hope you’ll like it. It comes with conditions, but I think you’ll like those too.”

“You open it,” Ted said, handing the box to Dougal, who took it gingerly. Coming from Louis it could be absolutely anything at all but one thing was for sure, whatever it was would be expensive. 

Dougal carefully unwrapped the bow from the box and handed it to Ted. He lifted the lid, peeled back a layer of tissue paper and knitted his eyebrows at a glinting gold key. He looked up at Louis for a clue. Ted glanced over his shoulder into the box.  
“Is that…” he gasped.

“Yes,” Louis smiled, amused.

“That’s the key to the Parochial House!” Ted spluttered, “that’s my old house key! There’s the dent from when I dropped it down that grate and had to fish it out with one of Dougal’s toy fishing rods!”

“Is it?” Dougal looked around, wide-eyed and confused, “I thought the Parochial House was sold Ted?”

“It was sold to me,” Louis laughed, “I bought it from Brennan at a private auction. I was confident you’d leave the priesthood eventually Ted, and you proved me right.”

“YOU?” Ted and Dougal chorused together. 

“But we moved out!!” Ted said, “we’ve been living in a cottage...”

“I had to get you out of there so I could fix the leak in the roof, install a new kitchen for Mrs. Doyle, a chairlift for Jack and a football pitch outside for Dougal,” Louis smiled, his eyes twinkling, “you can move back in when you return to Craggy Island. But there’s a catch.”

“What?” Ted asked, immediately suspicious.

“The house comes with a job for the two of you,” Louis said, “I want the Parochial House to become a retreat for gay people who need somewhere safe to go to gather their thoughts or escape abuse at home. I want to build some log cabins outside and create a sanctuary of peace and quiet on the island where people can go to be supported by their peers. And I’m going to need a kind-hearted, understanding couple to mentor them and run the place. They will be paid positions for two retreat counsellors, an estate manager and a house-keeper. Do you think that could be you two and Mrs. Doyle?”

Returning to the Parochial House felt like just what it was…going home. After all the excitement of their trip to England, their wedding and Louis’ amazing wedding present, all the fab four wanted to do was go home to the house they knew and loved. Mrs. Doyle immediately went to inspect her new kitchen, make a cup of tea, Jack settled himself into his chair and Dougal sat cross-legged in front of the fire to play with his Lego. Ted took a contemplative walk around the house, allowing himself to absorb that the Parochial House, with all of its quirks and eccentricities, was in fact no longer a Parochial House at all. It was a strange concept to Ted, who had boyishly expected an inexplicable change to have taken place, as if the departure of Catholic spirituality would somehow alter the atmosphere. What he found was that the house was just as they had left it. The religious statues were still where they left them. The pile of broken toys Dougal had left behind was still stacked in the spare room. Jack’s bedroom was still a hurricane of chaos and disorder. Ted felt himself relax and feel a peaceful contentment. His home remained his home. Work on building the retreat would begin in a few months. Their task, Louis had briefed, was to settle in to married life, handle the backlash of homophobia and think about how the Parochial House could make the best of itself as a safe haven for gay people who needed its peace and solitude. It would be an easy-going start to married life, Ted mused, without much change to their environment at all.

And then the doorbell rang. He waited for Mrs. Doyle to answer it and then remembered she was busy in the kitchen and he shouldn’t expect her to wait on him anymore. He opened the door himself and blinked at the unfamiliar young chap who stood on the doorstep, looking nervous. He was tall with wavy brown hair and a curiously familiar look that Ted couldn’t place.

“Howaya,” he said, “is this the Parochial House?”

“Yes,” Ted said, “can I help at all?”

“Louis Walsh sent me about a job as an estate manager,” the young lad said, “and to ask for Mrs. Doyle when I got here.”

“Come on in,” Ted said. Louis had told him to expect someone to arrive to start planning the retreat. He hadn’t expected anyone quite so soon, but what the hell. First day of the rest of their lives and all that. He called through to the kitchen, “Mrs. Doyle! Mrs. Doyle…did you know about an…”

Mrs. Doyle poked her head through the lounge door and dropped the pot of tea she was carrying. It smashed all over the floor but thankfully didn’t burn anyone. Her lower jaw snapped open and shut like a cod-fish gasping for air. Dougal came racing out behind her and glared at Frankie suspiciously. 

“Frankie?” she gasped, “Frankie…my boy!!”

Ted stared in bewilderment as his house-keeper and this strange lad on the doorstep embraced, squeezing the lifeforce out of each other. They looked into each others’ eyes, stroked each other’s faces and hugged again, mumbling apologies and declaring their love for each other. And then it dawned on Ted. Louis had used his resources to locate Mrs. Doyle’s son and reunited them with the offer of a job on the retreat. How absolutely wonderful. Though not for Dougal, who was going to have to learn some harsh lessons in containing his jealousy. Mrs. Doyle grasped her son, who looked so much like her, and lead him to introduce him to Ted and Dougal. 

“Frankie, this is Father Crilly, and Father…Crilly!” Mrs. Doyle laughed, “oh no, you’re not Fathers anymore. It’s Mr. Crilly and Mr. Crilly. Oh dear, how will I remember who is who?”

“I think we’re beyond those formalities now, Mrs. Doyle. You can’t call us both Mr. Crilly, it will get very confusing,” Ted chuckled, “how about just plain old Ted and Dougal from now on?”

“Ted and Dougal,” Mrs. Doyle parroted. An invisible boundary had been erased and a new era in their relationship stretched promisingly before them, “I’ll try to remember. I’ve no doubt I’ll make the odd slip and call you Father every now and then though.”

“And Mrs. Doyle?” Ted asked. She looked at him questioningly, “your name?”

“Ah so,” she laughed, waving a hand at him, “of course. It’s Joan.”

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written properly for about 10 years, having lost my creativity to the daily grind of work and adulting. This is my first fanfic in as many years and it is thanks to the current lockdown that I've had the headspace to rediscover my passion for writing. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you like it do let me know in the comments and I'll work on further chapters Xx


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